


Open Book

by hellokhaleesi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alive Aiden, Alive Allison, Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Banshee Lydia Martin, Good Sex, Hale Family Feels, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Rebuilt Hale House, Revenge, Sex Is Not The Enemy, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, True Alpha Scott, Vignette, Weddings, alot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellokhaleesi/pseuds/hellokhaleesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started as harmless research to find more out about banshees lead to something much more intimate... and dangerous.</p><p>Five chapters made of five vignettes each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Banshee and The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnitedKingdomOrgy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnitedKingdomOrgy/gifts).



> Part of the Community Project by the Pydia Pack Mom - for you, shameless fluff and smut. I hope you approve.
> 
> The '~.~.~.~' indicates a passage of time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with an unconventional problem, Lydia has to turn to some highly unconventional help.

_**“You hit me once, I hit you back, you gave a kick, I gave a slap,**_

_**you smashed a plate over my head so I set fire to our bed”** _

 

_11th June - 1:25pm_

Lydia Martin had always resolved to give as good as she got.

All people saw was the damn good hair and the pretty face, heard the rumours and the stories - many of which were, to be fair, true - and dismissed her as another high school girl with nothing between her ears. Stiles had been one of the only people to ever acknowledge her intelligence, and while she was a valuable asset to the ever-growing population of werewolves in Beacon Hills, most people still regarded her as just a pretty face.

And, that was fine. She didn’t need people to know she was better than them, it was much more amusing to watch them look down their noses at her then fail math. So, she sung her songs and carried on the way she always had; cool and collected.

“Lydia,” a voice called out behind her. “wait up!”

Funnily enough, she turned around to find Stiles jogging towards her. He’d been extremely helpful those past few weeks, after the nogitsune vanished and Beacon Hills was returned to relative peace. As she stopped trying to push away the banshee inside her - the screaming was truly horrific and much more frequent than she ever would have dreamt - she unfolded much of her potential. She already knew that she heard sounds than ran on a different supernatural frequency to everybody else, but as soon as she _accepted_ she was a banshee, she started to hear... different things.

Like, the way she could hear an incoherent stream of words in Kira’s mind whenever she got within ten feet of Scott. Or the crackling of fire whenever she thought about Derek too hard. She had learned that she wasn’t just in tune with death, but with life.

“Have you found anything else out about your, you know…” Stiles trailed off, waving a hand vacantly at her. “screaming thing?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, not yet. But I’m getting better. I can hear all sorts of things now.”

“Like, people’s minds?”

She shook her head. “It’s not quite that black and white. It’s like riddles. Almost like people are made up of clues that I can solve.”

Stiles snorted. “Lovely to know we’re all your personal puzzle books, Lydia.”

“A pleasure, as always.” she mocked irritation, but bit her cheek to avoid laughing at his indignation.

Stiles, like her, was convenient for the pack. She found the bodies, he found the facts. The discovery that she could listen in on the subtle aspects of a person’s destiny made her curious as to whether she had any other hidden talents, and Stiles's unparalleled ability to trawl through endless internet-based research made him her number one friend. Truthfully, the thought that there was _more_ to her made her nervous, but that was largely why she was looking into any possibilities; the last thing she wanted was to discover she could hear people’s actual thoughts halfway through chemistry. Lydia hated surprises.

However, banshees appeared to be rather rare, and the amount of information on them infuriatingly thin on the ground. Nothing but old wives tales and half-hysterical accounts from the 1880’s of wailing women followed by the deaths of family members. A lot of it was written in Gaelic, which was another issue; as wide as Lydia’s skill set was, it wasn’t that wide.

But, she really did give as good as she got, and if the universe was reluctant to give her what she wanted… well, she’d give it a damn good push.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_11th June - 3:30pm_

“Lydia, darling,” Peter drawled. “my favourite little narcissist.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

She hated Peter. Like, _really_ hated him. She hated the way that he was always stood over someone’s grave, and always had a shovel in his hands. She hated the fact that he seemed incapable of remorse or guilt or in fact, any emotion whatsoever. She hated that he managed to stand right in the middle of blood and chaos and hardly ever get a scratch. He just watched as everyone else ran for their lives.

“What can I do you for today?” He lead her over to one of the chairs in the apartment which she promptly sat in with a sweet smile on her lips despite the fact that all her muscles were so tense she thought she might get a cramp.

"You seem to be the best place to get information these days,” she said lightly. “and I really need some information.”

He pulled up one of the other armchairs so that it was opposite her, and leant back casually, surveying her. Lydia had dated enough assholes to know when a guy was trying to intimidate her, so she crossed her legs and balanced her chin on her fist, leaning towards him. He was trying to make her feel uncomfortable - why, she wasn’t sure, maybe that’s just how he got his kicks - but she refused to cringe under his stare. They were stuck in a silent battle for who would crack first, both staring into the other one’s eyes, a polite smile on her lips, and a lewd smirk on his.

“As much as I delight in your appeal to my ego,” he said slowly, not taking his eyes off her face. “I’m afraid that you are all out of favours.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up straight. “And obviously there is nothing that a greedy, power hungry bastard such as yourself could possibly want that I could get.”

“Ugly language from a pretty girl.” said Peter sadly, shaking his head. “Such a shame. But, now you mention it, there is one tiny little thing.”

 _Here we go_ , she thought dully. “What is it? A virgin for sacrifice?”

He stood up, sauntering over to the bookshelf across the room. She’d noticed it before, and Derek didn’t seem the type for reading, so she only assumed it was Peter’s. Secretly, she had been intrigued as to what a man such as himself would settle down with at night with, but had never asked. She watched as his fingers danced over the spines in a way that was almost sensual, his tongue tapping off his top lip. He picked out a few books; a large, red leather bound one, a glossy paperback with a Celtic design on the cover and a smaller, black one.

Winking at her as he made his way back, he dropped them on the coffee table in between them. “I want you,” he said, leaning back in his chair again. “to find out who my lovesick nephew is currently pining over and do something about it. I don’t care if you have to kill them, just do _something_.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You want to me to set Derek up with someone? That’s your price? That was… anticlimactic.”

“There’s a first for everything,” he grinned. She ignored him. “and while it may seem like a small favour, you don’t have my hearing, and so don’t have to listen to him w-”

“Okay!” she yelled. “Don’t ever try and put that image in my head again, and we have a deal.”

“What?” he said innocently. “I was just going to say ‘withering away in his room to Dido’s Greatest Hits’. You and your filthy mind, Lydia.” He tutted.

“You’re disgusting.” she snapped. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the first book - the leather bound one that was much heavier than she expected - and setting it on her lap. “Honestly, the things I do for you.”

He set his feet up on the coffee table, putting his hands behind his head. Despite the irritation in her voice - and general disgust at any reference to what Derek does behind closed doors - she glanced at him over the top of the book and couldn’t help the smile. He gave a half smile back.

“Well, there isn’t much solid information on banshees, but a man like me hears plenty of stories.” he talked while she read. “Most of them follow a pretty simple idea; woman who screams when death is near. There are, of course, variations on this…”

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_2nd July_

And that was how Lydia spent her Wednesday afternoons. Derek was out more often than not, punching things and moping, following Scott around, complaining. The one time that he walked in on one of Peter and Lydia’s studying sessions, he had raised an eyebrow, but not commented, only shaking his head and disappearing off into his room. Peter had hid his laugh behind his hands and the look of mock horror on Lydia’s face, but had burst out laughing when she had thrown one of her shoes at him in response to him making an inappropriate, if relevant, hand gesture. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her reluctant smile.

Truthfully, Lydia almost enjoyed spending time with Peter, not that she would ever admit it. While most people dismissed her brighter moments as strokes of luck, Peter had never once showed any real doubt in her abilities. He happily recounted any information on banshees that he knew, sometimes leading off into only vaguely related anecdotes about his travels around Scandinavia, as she powered through his surprising collection of books, with no doubt in his mind that she was capable of taking in everything that he said. He’d jab and annoy and pull at her pigtails, calling her ‘shallow’, or ‘superficial’, but never once showed a sign that he actually believed that. In fact, he was borderline friendly.

Two cups of coffee sat on the table in between them. It had started when she had turned up with her favourite mocha from Starbucks after school on a Wednesday, and had only got to drink half of it because he kept stealing sips. Eventually, she gave in, and just bought him one on her way over as well. He had raised an eyebrow the first time, taking it slowly, like she had poisoned it - the thought had crossed her mind - but it quickly became just another thing in their new routine. She was even willing to stomach the creepy new barista, whose eyes followed her around the store and had a smile that made her want to shower.

“What about during sex?” he said randomly, halfway through a sentence about ‘an old gypsy woman with four thumbs’.

She choked on her own air, nearly dropping the book she was holding. “I beg your pardon?”

“From what you said, you are on this different wavelength, you know? Hearing people’s souls or whatever you want to call it.” he explained, as if what he said was completely normal. “But it’s only people you’re close to, right? Stiles, Scott, Allison?”

She blinked. She hadn’t thought about it like that. “Well, I suppose.”

“So, doesn’t that get distracting when you’re going at it with tweedle-dee?”

Her jaw dropped. “First of all, that is none of your business. Secondly, I’ve been slightly preoccupied since the whole my-friend-has-been-possessed fiasco to worry about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. She resolved long ago to not let Peter get to her. He might have stopped leering at her like he wanted to tear her to shreds, but he still loved trying to make her squirm in her seat. It was a recurring theme of their Wednesday afternoons; he would say something purely to get a rise out of her, a staring contest would take place, and she would win. He was yet to make her lose her cool, but he had never pressed touched on quite so personal a topic. He would shamelessly allude to it - honestly, the man had an ear for innuendos that Lydia hadn’t seen since she was twelve years old - but a blatant reference to her dwindling sex life? This was a first.

“So,” he drew out the sound. “you haven’t…”

“No.” she said shortly. “I haven’t.”

When he didn’t say anything, she inclined her head slowly, and raised the book back up so it covered her face. She couldn’t see him, but she knew that he was smirking, and she didn’t need to be a banshee to know. She steadfastly ignored him, trying to read what was in front of her but the words were blurring into each other. She blamed this on having been reading too long, refusing to admit that he might have finally touched a nerve in their little game.

“Oh, bloody stop it!” she snapped, slamming the book shut.

He looked baffled. “Stop what?”

“Smirking so loudly.”

Peter burst out laughing. “Who knew? The only thing I needed to do to break the ice cold banshee’s outer shell was talk about what grown ups do between the sheets.”

She scowled at him, and he bit his lip to try and stop himself laughing. It really was like dealing with a child. A few more minutes of thorough evil-eyes and he stopped all together, although he still had the look in his eye that she took for him silently proclaiming his victory.

After a minute or so of her pretending to read so she didn’t have to look at his smug face, he broke the silence. “Do you hear… me?”

She looked up. “Far too often, far too loud.”

“You know what I mean.”

Lydia thought back to all the times she had turned up at his door, more questions about banshees on her lips and a coffee for him in her hand. She couldn’t recall any hearing anything that made her stop and look around for a phantom noise. She shook her head. “No, ironically enough, you’re silent.”

He made a face that looked dangerously close to disappointment, a face that reminded her far too much of puppy eyes and she took pity on him. “I suppose I’m always concentrating on reading and listening when I’m with you, though, that might block it out. Everyone else is louder when I concentrate on it.”

Peter made a non-committal noise, but gave a small smile anyway. Lydia wondered when she started caring about Peter Hale’s feelings.

 

**~.~.~.~.~**

 

_16th July_

The summer sun blazed down on her, warming the exposed skin of her legs and arms. It was probably far too hot to logically be buying coffee, but she was a creature of habit if nothing else, and so she found herself, once again, walking towards Derek and Peter’s apartment, two mochas in her hands.

Her pursuit of Derek’s high school crush was coming to a close, as she was pretty sure she had accosted everybody in Beacon Hills. It stopped being about repaying Peter for his help and was actually a slightly amusing if infuriating mission. Derek shut down immediately when asked, and not even Scott had any clue. He just shrugged as if the idea of Derek having actual feelings was some kind of myth and carried on sword fighting with Kira using large sticks. Honestly, it was like watching a 1990’s teen romance film.

The sound of rustling in her head drew her out of her irritated contemplation into Derek’s love life. She paid close attention the noise, praying that it meant one of her friends was near and not someone was about to be violently murdered. She carried on walking, trying to tell what the familiar noise was…

It was a book. It was pages turning in a book. But there was another noise, a soft muttering, echoing in her head as well. It sounded like words but they weren’t discernible, like a recording with the volume right down. Despite it being almost unnoticeable, there was something incredibly familiar about it.

Peter.

She was hearing Peter’s voice in her head, along with the sound of pages in a book being turned.

She had no idea why, but it brought a smile to her face to think of how happy he would be that she was finally hearing him in her head. Lydia physically stopped on the pavement when she heard herself, scolding her mind because she didn’t care about Peter or what made him happy or why it made him happy. It was merely entertaining that he was so put out by not starring in her own weird little soundtrack. _Yes_ , she thought happily, _that was it._

Lydia made her way to Peter’s apartment, listening to the sound of her turn a book she wasn’t holding and the voice of a man that was no where near her, trying to discern what it meant. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but it opened before she had the chance. Peter was looking at her, with his trademark smug smile on his face, but she must have looked confused.

“Heard you coming.” he explained, tapping his ear. “You were practically running, what had you in such… Lydia?”

She was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. The noise, the same one that she been hearing since she had left the coffee shop and had gotten progressively louder as she made her way to his door, had stopped. It was completely silent.

“Why can’t I hear you?” she blurted out.

“Wha-, Lydia, are you okay?”

“I could hear you, all the way here,” she shook her head, looking around as if to find something to inspire it in her mind. “I could hear your voice but now I’m actually hear and it’s gone.” She took a step towards him, completely disregarding any rules on personal space, desperately trying to hear it again. It was infuriating; she was just starting to understand how her weird, supernatural hearing worked and now it went and did the complete opposite with Peter. It was insanely annoying.

“Wait, you could-”

“Shut up.”

She was close enough to hear his heartbeat, and the way his nails were scratching against his palms. She was conscious of how shallow his breath had gotten and even how his mouth was drying, but the only thing she cared about hearing was the same thing she’d been hearing for for a good fifteen minutes. But there was nothing. Not even the slightest little rustle of paper, nor an unintelligible word from his mouth.

“What are you listening for?” he muttered. She wasn’t aware of just how close she was until his voice physically vibrated in her body. Her head snapped up in shock, but she found herself looking straight in his eyes. Lydia just stared at him blankly, the shock of being pulled from her concentration paralysing her as much as finding herself so close to him.

“I, er…” she stammered, taking a long step back. She cleared her throat. “Coffee.” She held the cup out to him, and he took it slowly, still looking at her like she might explode.

Lydia pushed past him, allowing herself to scrunch up her features in a cringe before forcing her face to neutrality. She turned to face him, painfully aware of the fact that he was still observing her.

“Thanks,” he said, holding the cup up. “but are you going to tell me what that was about?”

She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find the right words to explain why she was so bothered by the fact that she no longer had the connection she had before, even if she didn’t understand it.

“Lydia,” he said firmly. “sit down.”

She did as she was told without complaint, and Peter raised an eyebrow. “What, no witty remark? No sassy comeback?”

She ignored him. “I could hear you all the way here, you and me,” she explained, but found it difficult to keep the frustration out of her voice. “but now I can’t hear it. I just want… I just want something to be straightforward, and it was, and almost making sense, and now my head is all over the place again.”

He nodded slowly, taking his usual seat opposite her. The way he was watching her made her want to hide her face in her hands, but it wasn’t his usual penetrating glare; it looked strangely like something akin to caring. He was drumming his fingers against his cup, something she came to recognize as meaning he was deep in thought. It made her uncomfortable; she had gotten so used to him having all the answers - albeit, often, sarcastic ones - that seeing him struggling with a problem set her on edge.

“I have a hunch,” he said slowly. “you won’t like it, so let me have a few days to sniff around before I risk you breaking my jaw, okay?”

She nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “You don’t think it means something bad, do you?”

Grimacing, he said, “That depends on your point of view.”

She laughed softly, taking another sip of her drink. Lydia found herself another book from his veritable library, but ignored the fact it was only loosely connected to banshee folklore. Just like she ignored how Peter was prattling on about the time he spent three weeks in Las Vegas - in all fairness, there had been a bar called Banshee - but only remembered four days of it, and wasn’t even annoyed at him for getting off-topic.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_30th July_

Lydia self-consciously smoothed down the skirt of her dress, giving herself a final check. She was rarely so unsettled by a simple quickie with Aiden in the coach's office, but so much had changed since the height of their charming dalliance.

Firstly, she was acutely aware of both how strong a werewolf’s sense of smell was and exactly how she must smell. She could almost feel the remnants of their encounter on her skin, and while it wouldn’t usually bother her, she was standing outside Peter’s door, and, well… the man was hardly famed for his tact. It reminded her of when she lost her virginity and she was terrified her mother would just _know_. The only difference would have been her mother would have more than likely given her a disapproving look and a stern talk, while Peter was more inclined to tease her mercilessly.

A large reason for her discomfort was that she hadn’t been lying when she said she didn’t want to be with the bad guy. Ever since the nogitsune had plagued their lives, Lydia had looked at herself in a new light. Aiden represented everything bad that had happened; the Alpha pack, all the deaths, the fear, the panic. He also represented who she was before, and she didn’t want to have to stare that in the face everyday. She was trying her best to move on with her life, and all she felt when she looked at Aiden was horror and fear.

Although, nothing disturbed her more than the fact that the befuddling noise of Peter’s muffled voice and the turning of pages had invaded her mind near the end of English, and hadn’t let up… even as Aiden had panted into her neck, groaning in his release.

Her introspection was interrupted by Peter opening the door, confused amusement written all over his face.

“Are you coming in or are you just standing there for fun?” he smirked.

“I was day dreaming.” she snapped.

Peter held his hands up in surrender, standing aside to let her pass. She did so promptly, practically throwing a cup of coffee at him, before scurrying into the room as quickly as possible.

He gave her an odd look, but a glint in his eyes and his lips curling up into a satisfied grin told her he quickly realised why she was late, so she starting talking before he got the chance to say anything.

“I have a better idea about who your miserable nephew is moping around over,” she said at breakneck pace. “because I was speaking to Aiden who told me that Ethan told him that Derek came to him asking about how he came out…”

The news that Derek had a little less interest in the fairer sex than everyone believed wasn’t much of a surprise to Lydia, only now, she had confirmation. What she needed now was who Derek was wasting hours of the day, gazing into the sky solemnly because of. He apparently hadn’t disclosed this information to Ethan, but Aiden had mentioned that he got all flustered when Ethan asked, so it had to have been someone in the pack.

“By my thinking,” she raised the volume of her voice slightly when he showed signs of interrupting. “that means it has to be Scott, Isaac, the twins or Stiles. I’m putting my money on Scott, because I have never seen a man follow someone around like…”

“And Aiden managed to tell you all this from in between your legs?” he said, throwing a shit-eating grin her way.

She scowled at him. “You’re vile.”

“Oh, please, sweetheart,” he pouted, sauntering in her direction. “I’m not the one who turned up at someone else’s house smelling like sweat and sex.”

Lydia felt a blush spread across her face like rolling storm clouds, despite her best efforts to suppress it. He made his way over to her, brushing his shoulder with hers, before burying his face in her hair and inhaling. If she hadn’t been so shocked, she might have punched him in the throat.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalised.” he drawled out. “My killjoy nephew has me on house arrest - something about me being _inappropriate_ \- so forgive me for trying to live vicariously through my favourite little narcissist.”

Lydia tried her very hardest to remain angry at him, but he was smiling his “you know I’ll win” smile at her and leaning against the kitchen counter with his head tilted at her in a way that looked more suited to a puppy than a man in his early 30’s. Still, Lydia Martin was anything but a pushover.

“Remind me why I put up with you?” she snarled.

“My delicious wit, stunning intellect, vast and extensive library of banshee-related literature?”

She pretended to think about it. “I do love your books.” With that, she flicked her hair and strutted over to his bookshelf with indigence. There was the soft sound of his chuckle behind her but she ignored it. She’d never actually looked at his collection of books before; the large collection of Stephen King and Thomas Harris didn’t surprise her, but she was curious as to why he held so many books on Ancient cultures. She ran her fingers over the spines of each of them, muttering the titles as she did; Egypt, Rome, Greece, the Cradle of Life… There was several books on architecture, even art and culture. She picked one out that she couldn’t quite read the title of, and found it to be a French dictionary.

“You speak French?” she said in surprise.

“I speak four languages,” he huffed indignantly. “I’m a cultured man, it’s not all murder and mayhem.”

“Four?”

“English, French, Dutch and Korean.” he recited. “I know a couple of phrases in Latin, but it’s been years…”

“Why on Earth do you speak Korean?” she laughed.

He looked at her like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. “I dated a Korean girl in college.” Lydia rolled her eyes, replacing the book.

She went back to inspecting his bookshelf. In truth, because the amount of information on banshees was so limited, anything he did have on them was merely repeated over and over again in different books, with slight variations on the tales. Anything else was wild speculation or fairy tales. It was more annoying than she could describe. She was reading the first page of a book on.. she wasn’t actually sure, but it was written by a man with a very Irish name so it was worth a shot, when she was distracted by the sound of Peter chuckling.

She slammed it shut. “What?!”

“I can smell him all over you,” he laughed. “but I can barely smell you.”

“What?” He simply smiled at her, making her want to hit him with something. When she shook her head, not sure what he meant, he raised his eyebrows suggestively, and the penny finally dropped. “Oh, God… that’s so… Well, I suppose I should be impressed an old man such as yourself can even tell any more.” she gave him her best smile and her snarkiest tone.

There was a slightly terrifying moment where his face was completely unreadable, and she thought they might revert back to their game of staring each other down until the other one broke. But, before she knew it, her back collided with the wall, his hand pressed firmly against her chest, his whole body looming over her.

“I thought you might have learned, sweetheart,” he all but growled, the tiniest hint of humour in his voice. “not to bait me.”

“And I thought you might have realised, _hun_ ,” she fired back. “that your intimidation tactics don’t work on me.”

This time he did growl, a low, thumping noise from low down in his chest, and she though his eyes might start glowing blue for a second. “This isn’t me intimidating you…”

She snorted, looking at his hand, the fingers splayed out across her sternum, keeping her up against the wall, but in no way painful or threatening. “Oh, please. If you actually wanted to hurt me, your hand would be around my throat, not on my chest.” She stood up a little straighter, squaring her shoulders, throwing her chin up in a challenge. Truthfully, she didn’t believe Peter would hurt her at all, but he was impulsive, and she’d met girls with skin less sensitive than his ego, so she was taking a risk.

Her actions seemed to amuse him. “Brave little banshee,” he muttered. “this is a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“Why does it bother you so much?”

It was only when his eyes snapped to her face that she realised he had been staring quite openly at her neck while they were speaking. It made her swallow heavily, but he gave no sign of noticing. “Why does what bother me, Lydia?”

“The smell of Aiden on me.”

“I don’t like sharing.” he said bluntly, leaning a forearm on the wall besides her head, effectively trapping her between the wall, the bookshelf and his body, and Lydia was struck by a quote she had read in a book months before.

_‘Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.’_

Because behind all the jokes, and the sarcasm, and the sass and the innuendos, there was thick sexual tension. And genuine affection, which was as, if not more, worrying. It was easy to banter with Peter because he endeavoured to throw anything she threw at him back. It was a battle of wits, a contest of the mind, and there was no one she enjoyed playing with more. No one who could match her.

And, just like that, with one simple phrase - _‘I don’t like sharing’_ \- all the tension manifested itself into a ball of nerves in her lower abdomen and she had never been so conscious of the shape of his body through his top or his five o’clock shadow or the exact colour of his eyes. He was overwhelming all of her senses, from the steady sound of his breathing to the smell that clung to him, a mixture of cologne and whatever it was that Peter smelled like. Lydia wasn’t sure how long she had been looking at him, but he was looking quite proud of himself regardless.

“Would you look at that,” he smirked, putting on a fake Southern accent. “I’ve gone and made the banshee lose her voice.” He ran a finger along her jawline and she almost instinctively leaned into his hand before catching herself and stopping. His eyes narrowed as his finger stopped, but lingered, just next to her pulse point. He was testing the waters, and she was determined to savour it because Peter Hale choosing not to crash blindly into a situation was as rare as a blue moon.

Making sure her eyes never dropped from his, she slowly turned her head so that he could feel her breath on the skin of his wrist. She watched as his pupils dilated, his finger twitching against her neck. He slowly cupped her chin with his hand, but she pulled her head out of his grasp. Lydia tilted her head, giving him a look that silently asked if he really thought he’d get away with that with her.

He must have understood her. “You’re going to fight me on this, aren’t you?”

“To the very end.” she smiled.

Before she even had time to react, one hand was at the back of her head and the other was at the small of her back, and she was pressed flat against him with his mouth on hers. She would have liked to have said that she offered some resistance and made him work for it but she all but melted under his touch in a way that made her question why they had wasted a good two months sitting around, reading. Peter, apparently, did not kiss. He plundered.

His mouth was hot and heavy and it made her light-headed. His tongue ran along her lips, almost making her purr beneath him, desperately clawing at his back in an attempt to press herself closer to him. When her nails found the nape of his neck, he growled, lifting her up without warning to straddle his hips, her back against the wall. He tried to hold her hands above her head but she yanked them out of his grasp and put them to work pulling his top off.

He laughed into their kiss. “I did promise you a fight.” she reminded him, relieving his upper body of clothes. He set her down on the floor - none too gracefully, she was quite impressed by the way she managed to land on her feet - but instead of staying and battling him out of more clothes, she ducked under his arm and skipped off towards the stairs.

“What?” she asked innocently, deftly twisting her arm, and pulling the zip at the back of her dress. He looked mildly affronted with her departure. “You didn’t think I was going to give up my advantage when I was winning, did you?” Before he could respond, she let the dress fall to the floor, pooling at her feet in a pile of sunflower cloth. He practically choked on his own air at the sight of her, a true sight for sore eyes with his t-shirt in his hands and his belt undone, mouth hanging open.

She shook her hair out of it’s pony tail, and shot him a winning smile. “You coming, or not?”

Lydia was certain that wearing matching underwear was either a sign that she was becoming prophetic, or was simply a very good omen. Whatever higher power had persuaded her that sheer black lingerie was a good idea that morning was owed a human sacrifice, at the very least.

Because Peter fucked like a pianist played piano; with seemingly effortless ease, fluidity and passion. His fingers glided over her skin like they would the keys, but they drew something much more intense from her than a few harmless notes.

After setting her down on the edge of his bed, kneeling in front of her and kissing her legs from her ankles to the apex of her thighs, he had slid her underwear slowly down her legs, never breaking eye contact with her. If she thought his kiss made her light-headed, whatever that move was that he pulled made her downright giddy. His tongue traced nonsensical patterns down the inside of her thigh until his stubble was grazing her sex and by the time he pressed his lips where she so desperately needed them she already had her fist stuffed in her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

Peter’s tongue circled her clit, applying pressure on her most sensitive part, and it was a matter of minutes before she came crashing down around him. As he crawled slowly up her body, softly pressing kisses to her skin as he went, his fingers dancing across her torso, she slowly regained comprehensible thought. She couldn’t remember the last time she came so hard she saw stars, and was left a shaking mess under her lover’s body. It was so intense it almost scared her; there was palpable electricity between them and it reached far beyond lust.

“You back with us, sweetheart?” Peter chuckled breathily in her ear. She blushed, but he only laughed again. “Don’t be embarrassed, that is a stunning shade of pink on you.” She couldn’t even summon the energy to hit him, so she settled for muttering ‘shut up’ under her breath. He decided to appropriate response was to lick her from collar bone to neck, and her skin, still sensitive from her explosive orgasm, burned like an open flame.

_‘I am the spark that lit your fire.’_

His words came back to her and she couldn't help but laugh at the irony, at the fact she would have never imagined being in a situation like the one she found herself in, but how incredibly true they were, as well. Her legs having stopped shaking, she pulled his face down for a ferocious kiss, which he responded to eagerly. She took his distraction as an opportunity to flip them over, so she straddled his waist and ground her hips down hard enough to draw a low moan from him.

As his tongue ran across hers with renewed enthusiasm, he cupped her ass, pushing her down onto him. His deft fingers made quick word of her bra and it was discarded somewhere on the other side of the room, leaving her completely naked above him. His mouth travelled down her neck, her chest, before he took one of her nipples in his mouth. Her hips jerked of their own accord as his tongue toyed with her breasts, his teeth gently biting at her nipple. Lydia's fingers were working at undoing his belt, but her hands were shaking and she could barely think straight, but when his hand came down between them to cup her sex, she nearly fell off the bed.

Picking her up and setting her down in the middle of the bed, never taking his eyes off of her as he stood at the foot of it, he threw his belt on the floor. Lydia could only stare at him, her mouth open, chest heaving, completely bare in front of him but not a care in the world. He was a work of art, the lines from his pelvis that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans making her mouth dry and subconsciously wet her lips. With one swift movement, his jeans and boxers were on the floor and it took every inch of Lydia's self control not to moan.

He crawled up the bed, crawled up on top of her. The heat of his arousal burned against her thigh just as his tongue travelled up her neck, and the sudden onslaught of sensations was enough to put her into overdrive. The painfully slow pace at which he was moving was not working for her, so she arched her back, pressing their now bare bodies together. He let out a soft growl, the hand that had been ghosting over her hip suddenly gripped her tightly, with bruising force. Her nails scratched his back while his mouth attacked her neck and he settled himself in between her legs. He was pushing up against her entrance, teasing her mercilessly as her fingers tangled in his hair and gripped the back of his neck.

"Peter," she groaned, arching her back again, desperate for some kind of friction. "please, please."

Without warning, he slammed into her, burying his face in her hair and nipping at her neck. Her legs came around his waist as they found a pace; it was quick, hard, desperate. They both needed it, the heat in each other's bodies, the contact, the sensation of having someone that close. His lips were dancing across her collar bones, goading the pressure inside her into something much bigger. She was so close, and if her orgasm was anything like the previous one, she'd be gone in minutes. Deciding that it was far too enjoyable to let it end so early, she manoeuvred him on to his back. Lydia took a blissful moment to appreciate the ecstasy on Peter's face before she started to move her hips around in small circles. A groan escaped his lips, his head falling back on the pillow, eyes closed. She let her nails drag down the flat panes of his torso, delighting in the tiny twitches his muscles gave when she touched them.

Her hips started to move quicker, and he began to shake underneath her, his hands grabbing hold of her waist, guiding her up and down on top of him. In a frenzy of moans and half-growls, Peter sat up, clutching her to his chest before throwing her on her back and pumping into her with renewed fervour. It was a matter of moments before Lydia exploded around him, her nails digging into his arms, and it was only a moment later before Peter came undone with a guttural noise that made his entire body vibrate. His hand came out to rest beside her head to support himself so he didn't collapse on her.

Peter Hale's post-orgasm face was truly a work of art, especially, she thought, when it was positioned just above her and the room still smelled like sex and her heart beat hadn't returned to a normal pace. He leaned his forehead against hers, both breathing deeply. When he shifted out from in between her legs, flopping on to his side in a manner much more undignified than Lydia would have ever expected of him, she made to get up and out of the bed but he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into him.

"Really?" she laughed. "You're a cuddler?"

He smirked lazily. "It's a wolf thing."

Rolling her eyes, she rolled onto her side so she was facing him. He showed no signs of being tired but was instead contently staring up at the ceiling, one arm tucked under his head, the other tucked under hers. "If I'm staying in bed with you, are you going to regale me with more thrilling tales of your youth, causing havoc in mainland Europe?"

He turned to face her. "We could be here all night if that's what you want." There was a smile on his face that might have looked lewd under different circumstances, but considering she was already naked beside him, it was more likely playful, an accompaniment to his thinly veiled innuendo.

She slowly ran her tongue over her bottom lip, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed heavily. "Well, if that's the sacrifice I have to make, so be it."


	2. Mon Petit Enfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Lydia delight in each other, but something darker is brewing.

_**“Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters”** _

 

_27th August_

_She looks rather like a goddess_ , he thought.

All alabaster skin and hair made of fire. It was one of the rare times he got to wake up to her next to her. Lydia, despite her somewhat sordid history with men, much preferring waking up in her own bed, so the times when she stayed over were a cause for great joy for him. Even after she’d leave, her scent would linger on his covers, all around his room, tiny traces of her all around him. Werewolves were, by nature, possessive, and Peter knew he was an 'all or nothing' kind of man.

The sun was just starting to rise in earnest, a stream of sunlight coming through the gap in the curtains to land across her bare stomach. He was eternally grateful that she chose to sleep in nothing but his discarded shirt, none of the buttons done up so it fell open to expose her body to him. It was just another way for him to mark her. The bruises of the previous night had already started to emerge; just little ones, around her hips, the crooks of her arms, her thighs, all the size of his fingertips. Her right shoulder was dotted with livid, purple love bites, and he smirked triumphantly.

In the four weeks since she had turned up at his door with a coffee and the smell of one of the twins all over her, people had started to notice something different. He overheard Scott and Stiles talking about it a week beforehand, trying to figure out who their friend was sneaking around with as he listened, quite amused by their suggestions. Allison was running about, interrogating everyone with a pulse, looking for answers, clearly outraged her friend chose not to confide in her. Aiden was skulking like he had a permanent rain cloud above his head, so Peter made sure to smile extra brightly at him when he saw him.

In truth, it was probably an incredibly unhealthy agreement they had. She had turned eighteen a matter of weeks ago and he was a few months from hitting 34. Their past was littered with violence and conflict and horror - around _and_ between them - and up until about three months ago, they could barely stand to be in each other's presence. But, now she was sneaking around, teasing him with see-through blouses and barely hidden innuendos around their friends, and he was propped up on one elbow as the sun rose, watching her sleep. They were a psychologist’s wet dream.

But when she turned on her side, making soft noises in her sleep as her hand subconsciously searched for him, who was he to deny her? Stretching his arm to within her reach, he let her wrap herself around it.

Derek would kill him if he found out. He’d yell all sorts of things about mind games and playing with fire, and how she was only a girl and how he was a terrible man. _Playing with fire_. He smiled to himself, ever so gently tucking a strand of her strawberry hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear.

“ _Mon petit enfer_.” he muttered.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he slowly eased himself down to her level, making sure she could keep a hold of his arm in her sleep. For a few minutes, he simply admired the way her chest would rise and fall steadily with her breathing, the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat and the tiny, almost imperceptible flutters of her eyelids as she dreamt. He was dying to know what Lydia Martin saw in her dreams, who she saw, what she did. She stirred slightly, her grip on him loosening, but he ran his finger as softly as possible along her jawline, revelling in the soft touch of skin and praying she didn’t wake, just he could have a few more minutes of her all to himself.

Oh, he was in deep trouble.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_2nd September_

Peter blessed whatever part of his brain had informed him that his tempestuous mate was likely to be in a foul mood when she got to his apartment. Some instinct - luck, fate or a good guess - was screaming at him that something bad had happened and if there was anything that Peter Hale knew, it was how to calm down an angry Lydia. Scooping two full spoons of hot chocolate and a spoon of instant coffee - Derek only kept instant in the house, much to his dismay - into a cup, he added a dash of milk and stirred in the hot water. The DIY lazy-man's mocha was an old trick of his sister’s.

He wondered what had her in such a tiff; the last time she had stormed to the door in a flurry of angry muttering and hair flicking, Aiden had made a pass at her in the halls before Advanced Chem and had taken rejection none too lightly. Of course, her anger dissipated at an alarming rate when she then threatened to restrain him if he didn’t stop trying to charge out the door to tear his jaw off.

He smiled fondly at the memory.

Sighing, he quickly opened the door just in time to see her come to a halt before him. She gave him a forced smile, and he rolled his eyes, letting her in.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?” she said brightly. “No, nothing. Nothing’s wrong…”

“Lydia.” he warned. She sighed.

“Just… bad day, you know?” He pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The tension seemed to leak out of her slowly, out with the deep breath she exhaled as she rested her head on his chest.

“Go,” he grinned. “I made you a mocha. It’s in the kitchen.”

She looked up at him, a mixture of happiness and gratefulness written across her face. “Thank you.” She reached up, kissing him soundly before bounding off to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she was leaning against him and they lounged on the sofa, the hot drink in her hands, her head lolling back on his shoulder. These were some of his favourite moments (second to when she did the _thing_ with her tongue) just quietly existing together. Beacon Hills had been so manic and dangerous and the entire town had been drowned in blood, that both of them enjoyed the minutes where they could just sit. Peter also have a sense of pride in the fact that the Lydia beside him was a Lydia very few got to see; completely serene, calm, no mask, no façade. Just… Lydia.

“You going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he nudged her slightly. “Or do I have to ply you with more hot drinks?”

“I told you, bad day.” He gave an over-exaggerated sigh, turning his head to stare and her sceptically. She glared at him back, but finally gave in. “Fine. My mom is going to Europe for three weeks.”

“Why is that bothering you?”

She huffed. “Everything was just getting back to normal. Everyone is more or less happy, and they’re getting on, and nobody has died in weeks. I haven’t spent actual time with my mum since… God, I don’t even know. And now she’s gallivanting off round France and bloody Italy and I’m back on my own again.”

It was at that exact moment that Derek decided to make his way towards the front door - his moody nephew was anything but light on his feet. He muttered “ _Derek’s coming_ ” in Lydia’s ear and she shot off him like he had the plague. This was the one aspect he didn’t enjoy. If it was up to him, she’d never leave his side. He’d never think anything of draping his arm around her shoulder, or whispering in her ear. He wouldn’t have to resist the temptation to growl and tear somebody’s throat out whenever their eyes lingered too long on her. Alas, they both agreed - a rare event - that the world wasn’t quite ready for Peter and Lydia. And the lecture from Derek would be truly terrible.

“Peter?”

“Derek!” he called.

“Hey- oh, hi, Lydia.”

Derek had gotten used to coming back on Wednesdays to find Lydia with her nose buried in a book. He had stared at Peter for a long while the first time, but only shrugged, not sure even he could find a reason to complain about his uncle actually doing something to help for a change. He had never asked what brought her round in the first place - if there was anyone in Beacon Hills who didn’t need help protecting themselves, it was Lydia - and it didn’t seem to bother him either. And, if he knew about the change in their relationship, he didn’t let them know.

Peter was struck by an idea. A brilliantly foolish yet potentially fantastic idea. “Derek, you still got everything from Cora’s room up there?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I haven’t really touched any of it, why?”

Peter glanced at Lydia, who furrowed her brow at him. “Well, Lydia here appears to be in need of a place to stay.”

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_6th September_

The door was thrown open and Lydia stormed in like a natural disaster waiting to happen, hair blazing behind her as she all but ran into the place. She stopped, standing in the middle of the room with her eyes closed, and as Peter watched from the stairs, for a split second he thought she might start screaming. She was bracing, her feet shoulder width apart, her chest puffed out, her chin held high and her shoulders squared. Instead, she took several deep breaths and balled her fists.

“Good afternoon, _mon petit enfer_.” he called. Her head snapped around to face him.

“Actually, it’s been terrible.” she snapped. “Freshmen are utterly vile. Honestly, you would think the jumped-up little…”

“Don’t take your annoyance at the children out on me,” he said bluntly. “they’re not mine.”

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, like she was trying not to smile. Lydia seemed to revel in her rage and her anger, like it was fuel to her, which given the nature of many of the banshee origin stories, was actually quite likely. Luckily for Peter, her desire to tear through the place like a bat out of hell seemed to be slightly diminished, and instead of glaring at him and eating of all the ice cream in the house, she smirked and joined him on the stairs.

“What are you lurking here for?”

“I heard you coming half a mile away,” he grinned. “I just didn’t count on you running. Miss me that much, eh?”

“Cute.” she deadpanned, but she couldn’t keep the straight face for long. “Did you just call me a fire?”

“An inferno,” he corrected. “quite appropriate, I think.” He ran a finger through her hair to prove his point, delighting in the texture.

She smiled, the faintest of blushes on her cheeks. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her. It was meant to be a reassuring, happy kiss, but then she dragged her nails down his back and reassuring her was the last thing on his mind. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back to expose the column of her throat, and quickly began kissing up her neck, biting and licking. She caught on to his train of thought fairly quickly, hooking a leg over his waist and rolling her hips.

He chuckled, returning to kiss her mouth. He savoured the taste of her tongue for a second before asking, “Bed or kitchen counter?”

She bit her lip, pretending to think about it, and he nearly said screw the bed or the kitchen counter and took her on the stairs. “The kitchen’s closer.”

“Lead the way, Miss Martin.” he grinned.

“My pleasure, Mr Hale.”

They barely got to the bottom of the stairs before his body started to ache from the loss of contact so he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her up against the bannister. She giggled, happily pulling his head down to kiss her the second her back hit the stairs, her hands tangling themselves in his hair. The heat from her body soaked through her vest, and he revelled in the sensation of her pressed so firmly against him. His chest vibrated as he growled when she moved to kiss his neck, her lips quickly finding the hollow at the base of his throat, her fingers already tugging at his belt. As she travelled back up his neck, she bit down just above his artery and he had to throw a hand out to the bannister to balance himself.

His hand slid under her top, fingers splaying out across her ribs, just brushing the underside of her breasts. She arched into his touch, a gasp escaping her lips.

“What the _fuck_?” There was a loud bang that turned the gasp on her lips to a yelp of surprise, and both her and Peter turned around to find Derek, hand still on the door, mouth hanging open. What was more surprising, was that Stiles was in the process of detaching himself from Derek in a vain attempt to cover up what they were doing.

Peter’s hand had never rescinded from a woman’s body so quickly in his life. Lydia, on the other hand, seemed utterly unfazed by the fact that one of her best friends had just walked in on her being groped by a man twice her age, and she was actually beaming in delighted surprise.

“It’s Stiles?” she grinned. “Seriously?”

Derek shut his eyes and Stiles looked momentarily like he wanted to ground to swallow him whole. “Peter?” Derek growled. “Kitchen. Now.”

Lydia winced slightly, but had to contain her laughter when she caught his eye. “Good luck.” she whispered.

“You too.” he muttered, inclining his head towards Stiles, who was staring at her like she just agreed to trial how effective a new form of exploding bullet was on a person’s head.

She grimaced as Derek brushed past her, grabbing Peter by the arm and throwing him into the kitchen, leaving her alone in the room with Stiles. He didn’t even want to think about what they were going to say to each other, but it was likely to pale in comparison to the verbal beating he was about to receive.

“ _What the fuck do you think you are doing?_ ” he yelled the second he let go of Peter and entrusted him to walk on his own.

“Really?” he asked. “Why exactly did you want to have this conversation in the kitchen? I’m sure they can hear you.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Derek hissed. “She’s a eighteen year old girl!”

“And he’s a eighteen year old boy; pot, kettle, dearest nephew.”

Derek ground his teeth, glaring. Peter enjoyed arguing with him, mostly because it was easy and he got a simple sense of satisfaction know it was possible for him to cause anyone this much irritation so easily. Not in the same way that arguing with Lydia satisfied him; she held her own, was mind-bogglingly intelligent and wasn’t afraid to fight with him. Their arguments also usually lead to someone being pushed against a wall and he was totally fine with that.

“It’s not the same, Peter…”

“To hell it isn’t!” he snapped. “I’m not forcing her. I’m not making her do this, she’s here of her own volition. She’s brighter than anyone in this town, certainly bright enough to make her own choices.”

Derek opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. “You- but, you… what?” There was a loaded pause.

“You care about her, don’t you?” he whispered.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I _enjoy_ her.” Derek gave a disbelieving look, and he groaned. “She comes here, ranting about some girl wearing the same skirt as her, like I give a damn, but then she’s cooking French cuisine and talking about her latest astrophysics project. I push, she pushes right back. She’s the only one in this town who doesn’t look at me like I’m the villain.”

The younger Hale seemed to consider this before chuckling softly under his breath. “Careful, Peter. That sounds awfully close to having actual feelings.”

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_12th September_

Lydia had spent a week and a half at his and Derek’s apartment, and they’d only made it four days before getting caught by Derek. Peter was secretly very thankful, because although his nephew gave him filthy looks out of the corner of his eye, he had at least kept his mouth shut when Lydia moved her bags into his room. The three nights that Derek had been home had been torturous, knowing she was sleeping in only his shirt - she left the hanger on his bed to make sure he knew - just feet from his room kept him up until the sun rose.

He could hear her finishing getting ready downstairs, talking to Derek. Despite the muscles in his jaw jumping whenever he was around Peter, Derek seemed to have taken to Lydia quite happily. It was probably just another way for him to get back at him, and try and annoy him, but it was keeping the peace, so he didn’t really care.

He debated with himself for about three seconds as to whether spying on his nephew and his lover’s conversation was unethical before coming the conclusion that he didn’t care about that either, and he was too nosey anyway. Leaning over the bannister as quietly as possible, he listened.

“Where are you off to?”

“Sammy’s.”

“As in the weird little bar on the road out of town?”

Lydia laughed. “Yeah. Peter’s taking me to see if I can’t sharpen my weird, ‘listening to people’s souls’ skill. Lots of people, you see, good for practising.”

Peter was coming up dry in terms of explanations of why Lydia was not only able to able to hone in on the sounds of people’s deaths, but the circumstances of their lives, too. It was like she was tuned in to a radio station only she could hear, but no one knew where it was broadcasting from. He had suggested going to a crowded place to see if she couldn’t concentrate her powers on certain people, and block them out, too. If she wasn’t going to understand why she could do it, she might as well have a grasp on the how.

“Oh, lovely.” Derek said sarcastically. “Your first public outing.”

Lydia gave a fake laugh. “I know! You and Stiles should come too, we can double date!” she giggled, but he could hear the scowl on her face in the way she spoke. “Peter, what are you doing?”

He sauntered the rest of the way downstairs, winking at her as he did, making her scoff. Derek’s eyes flitted between Lydia and him, incredulity written all over his face. Peter gave him a small shake of the head when he looked like he might open his mouth. Lydia sprung up from the sofa, smoothing down her skirt - which was several inches too short for Peter to be content with her wearing into a bar frequented by truckers, but she was just as stubborn as him so he didn’t mention it - and fluffing her hair.

“Ready?”

“Yep. I’ll just go grab my bag.” she smiled, but rolled her eyes when he sighed. “What? It’s not my fault you take so long in the damn shower.”

The second she was out of earshot, Derek grabbed his arm. “She wasn’t even looking in your direction. I couldn’t see you, I couldn’t even hear you. It's almost like she can sense you.” His own words seemed to trigger a realisation in him, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping. "You're- oh God, Peter, is that why she can hear you, too?"

“Derek…”

“Does she know?” he demanded.

“Of course not,” he snapped. When Derek looked like he might protest again, he held up a hand to silence him. “and she’s not going to. Not yet.”

“She will kill you when she finds out you kept this from her.” Derek muttered, shaking his head.

Peter grimaced. “Although, maybe it will be less painful than if I told her and then I ended up being wrong.” Derek suppressed a laugh just in time for Lydia to pop up next to them.

Twenty minutes later, they were at the door of Sammy’s. It was a cliché, all rickety doors and posters in the windows. There was, as he suspected, at least ten or fifteen cars parked outside; Sammy’s seemed to fuel a large portion of the day drinking community of California. She glanced to his left, Lydia standing out amongst the dusty parking lot and beat up trucks in it, all flowers and light. He scoffed.

The second they were inside, Peter had to dig his nails into the palm of his hand to stop himself from growling. She, obviously, was completely unfazed by the twenty heads that just turned her way.

“See anyone you know?”

Her eyes scanned the room, as did his. When she shook her head, her hair fluttered around her shoulders and he thought he might carve a hole into his palms. “My friends all seem to refrain from drinking hard liquor before midday, odd as it sounds.”

“Good,” he muttered, grabbing her hand. “stick with me.” In all likelihood, she rolled her eyes at him and murmured something about being able to walk on her own, but she was being leered at like raw meter in a tiger cage, and he would be damned if any of them thought they’d get near her. He was conscious that hand-holding wasn’t a territory they had stepped into - a little too close to ‘actual feelings’, as Derek called it - and he tried to judge whether or not his sudden forwardness bothered her, but she was totally oblivious. It’s not like she had been bothered by him being forward before, anyway.

Ordering them two drinks, he helped her on to her barstool, and shifted his so he was slightly in front of her. She chuckled under her breath.

“Calm down, would you?” she said, more amusement than irritation in her voice. “Next thing I know, you’ll be cocking your leg up on me.”

He scowled, but she only laughed more. It was a sound that melded in with the harsh symphony of a good old fashioned American bar. She really was the only beam of sunlight in the godforsaken place.

“Hush, you,” he murmured, trying to keep the laughter from his words. “just try and hear somebody and stop laughing at my good intentions.”

She sat up a little straighter, her eyes closed. She was concentrating, turning her head ever so slightly whenever she caught something. There was a reason he had chosen Sammy’s; it was always busy, so there was a lot of background noise for her to push through. More people also meant more things to hear, so she might have had to separate the noises. But, mostly, it was because if she was ever going to hear something interesting about a person’s soul, a half-drunk truck driver was surely going to be very entertaining.

“I can’t hear anything,” she grumbled. “only the bar. It’s too loud…” Her voice trailed off at the end as she whipped around, eyes focusing on one woman. Tanned skin and fair hair, she was attractive enough, if a little rough around the edges. She was obviously with some guy, the muscles in his arm the size of Peter’s torso and littered with fading tattoos.

“What is it?”

“She’s pregnant,” Lydia whispered. “but she’s only just found out and she’s terrified.” Sure enough, upon straining his hearing, he could hear the gentle thump of the woman’s heart, but also the tiny pitter patter of another. “God, she’s so scared.”

“What can you hear?”

“It’s like her mind is crying, screaming, almost,” she said, not taking her eyes off her. “but there’s a nursery rhyme going on in the background, you know, like on an old music box?” She turned back around, looking conflicted. “Poor woman.”

Peter found himself watching her as she listened for more things; every so often she would perk up, but she wouldn't mention anything. His eyes lingered on the pregnant woman behind them, watching for any sign of the fear that Lydia spoke of, but she seemed perfectly happy. She was laughing and chatting, not a trace of discontent on her. The mind was a funny thing.

“You staring at my girl?”

The giant the woman was with was advancing towards Peter at an alarming rate, the veins in his neck popping like balloons. He would have given the twins at a full moon a run for their money; he was big enough. Lydia stared at Peter in shocked fear, watching as the man who could have crushed him like an ant if he were human stood inches from him.

“What do you think you’re doing, man?”

Peter shot him an indignant look. “I assure you the only girl I was staring at was my own, _man_.”

“Fuck off.” the man snarled. He gave Peter a shove that might have knocked him on his ass under different circumstances. Instead, it just made him knock into the guy behind him, causing him to spill his drink and turn around angrily. _Fantastic_ , he thought.  

Lydia looked like a deer in headlight as the second man Peter had managed to offend in all of about three minutes grabbed him the shoulders and turned him to face him so he could take a swing at him. Luckily, he was still a werewolf, and his better than average reflexes meant he could duck out of the way, and the guy he knocked into punched Goliath straight in the chest. Chaos broke out.

Grabbing her hand again, Peter pulled Lydia around the two men who were doing their best to break each other’s skulls. They made a dash for the exit, but what had started as a simple confrontation was quickly turning into an all out riot, and he had to grab her by the waist and yank her out the way as a man was thrown onto a table inches from her. She grabbed his arms to steady herself, but the second she caught his eye they both started laughing.

“Stiles’s dad is going to be so mad at us.” he grinned as they pushed their way through the mob, Lydia remaining fairly untouched - they were a respectful bunch of rioters, if anything - even if he had to push a few people to the floor to get to the door.

When they got out, she burst into fits of laughter. “I can’t believe you just incited a bar riot.”

“Me?” he said incredulously. “What about you, searching out tragic pregnant women? God, you nearly got me beat up.”

“It’s not my fault you have no sense of subtlety!” she mocked offence, still laughing.

Shaking his head disdainfully, he reached out an arm. Almost instinctively, she threaded her arm around his waist, and he held her to him, pressing his lips to her hair, and they laughed all the way to her car.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_16th September - 1pm_

Lydia's absence was felt in the loft. The previous two weeks had been a delightful mixture of the place actually being clean and tidy, and full, fully cooked meals. If asked, Peter would never have said that his and Derek's apartment was a 'bachelor pad', but they were both surprised at the difference a feminine touch could have; for one, neither of them were living off one meal and fifty slices of toast a day. Lydia's talents as a cook were both a secret and astounding.

Unfortunately, Peter quickly discovered teenage girls have a multitude of different duties, including mandatory time spent with their friends, and Lydia had stayed at Allison’s the previous night. She had rolled her eyes before she left and promised to text him if there was any pillow fights or naked mud wrestling, but he was yet to receive anything.

Derek was out ‘training’, but Peter was privy to the fact this actually meant him and Stiles had gone as far into the woods as they could handle before they started going at it like rabbits. Him, Derek, Stiles and Lydia had a four way pact that none of them would disclose details of the other’s dalliance to anyone else. Peter wasn’t likely to break the pact, because he’s have to deal with Derek’s incessant moping all over again, and Lydia wouldn’t jeopardize the happiness of her friend. Neither Derek or Stiles were willing to take a chance crossing Lydia on a personal matter, so Peter considered it a well struck deal and a fantastic idea all in all.

But, that left him by himself again, and he was bored. Mind-numbingly bored. He’d already cleaned his bedroom, the spare bedroom, the bathroom (the amount of strawberry blonde hairs in the drain was unbelievable) and was halfway through cleaning the kitchen. He’d reorganised his bookshelf, so it was by author instead of title. He’d drank more coffee than he had in recent years put together, and was now bored _and_ buzzing.

Peter fell back onto the sofa dramatically, pondering how angry Derek would be if he hung all his boxers around the living room in some post-modern artistic expression yadda-yadda-yadda, something about life. Groaning, he slammed his head down on the pillows, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Get over yourself,” he said to himself. “she’s only been here two weeks.”

He paused. “Now, you’re talking to yourself. What are you, fourteen?” He threw himself back off the sofa, furiously running his hands through his hair as he paced the room. It was infuriating. He had gotten so used to her being around that suddenly her absence felt like something was missing from him.

Part of him wanted to go running in the woods, but the slightly larger, more dominant part of him decided that there were things he would rather do than risk stumbling on his nephew with his trousers around his ankles and dirt on his knees. He was pacing the room, racking his brains on a way to pass the time, when he felt something that wasn’t entirely foreign, but didn’t feel right.

Fear.

He looked around, listening hard. A werewolf’s instincts were good, but they weren’t prophetic. But there was something odd about the emotion; he’d been scared before, and it had never felt like this. So… pure, so blind, so unyielding. It felt like he was feeling somebody else’s…

“Oh, no.” he closed his eyes, his own brand of terror closing in on him. “Lydia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Mon petit enfer' is French for 'my little inferno'. I don't speak French - like, a word of it - so credit to Google Translate. If I'm wrong, shoot me a message. Also, the mocha is actually a recipe of mine, and I strongly recommend it to anyone who can't be bothered faffing around with doing everything properly. 
> 
> Also, couple of notes on age. The American school system is... Latin, to me. Honestly. But, the way I figure it, chapter 1 was them finishing school. They're done now, all finished. That would make most of them 18, but Lydia's birthday is - in this fic anyway, I completely forgot about when it was in the canonverse - in the Summer, so she would have been 17 when she finished school. Everyone is 18 now, except Derek and Peter. Just to clarify. Mostly for me, I was getting all muddled up when I was writing.


	3. Hunting Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Lydia missing, tied up and exhausted, Peter has to turn to Scott and his pack for help. Peter and Derek have 'the talk', confirming what Derek has known for a while. Meanwhile, an old friend drops by with a clue.

**_“Holy water cannot help you now, a thousand armies couldn't keep me out, I don't want your money, I don't want your crown, see I have to burn your kingdom down”_ **

 

_16th September - 1pm_

Her body was screaming at her, her muscles tight and cold and unmoving. There was a pounding behind her eyes that meant she could hear her blood pumping like it was on a loudspeaker and she couldn't summon the energy to move even an inch.

Opening her eyes slowly, she found she was submerged in darkness. A tiny stream of sunlight poured through the filthy window in the top left corner, but it illuminated no more than a patch of dirt. Experimentally shifting her body, trying to roll onto her front or her back, she found that the reason her muscles felt so tight was because she was restrained. Panic rose up in her as she fought as hard as she could, but to no avail. She was sluggish from the blow to the head and cold and disorientation, but she could still tell the ropes around her wrists behind her back, her ankles and her knees were tied as tightly as possible. She resolved to trying again, when she had regained some sense.

A second later, she realised there was a thick piece of tape over her mouth. She pulled against it, desperately trying to open her mouth, trying to make a noise, but her throat was raw and tight with lack of water and she could barely make enough noise to be heard, never mind scream. Her one weapon, gone. She kicked out in frustration, but it only made the rope rub against her bare legs, making them burn.

Shuffling into a sitting position, she blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light now she was the right way up. Her head yelled in protest at the sudden movement and shifting of her horizon line. When she stopped seeing lights, she forced herself to focus on her surroundings. It was cold, very cold, which made her think it was at least partially underground. The floor felt like cold stone underneath her, and was slightly damp. It smelled a little mouldy.

_Okay_ , _Lydia_ , _you’re underground, tied up and probably have been for a few hours_ , she thought to herself, _but Peter was expecting you home and you always text Allison to let her know you got back okay which means they’ll be looking for you._

Her friends had been getting good at averting disaster; the gap year they had taken after high school - although she suspected only her and Stiles had any real interest in going to college - had been a plan to tidy up the town. Giving power back to the Nemeton had attracted more than a malicious Japanese spirit, and while nobody had been possessed since, there was still the unfortunate backlash. It filled her with hope, the idea that her friends would look for her, find her, bring her home safely. 

On the other hand, her optimism was a proportionally small light in a room with a grand total of three square inches that wasn't flooded in darkness. Her faith in her friends gave her the strength to close her eyes and not see her own dead corpse, but not quite enough to dampen the terror inside her.

Tears began to fall down her face, and she couldn't even wipe them. Her lungs burned from her crying and the air was sucked out of them and replaced with an overwhelming sense of failure and doom. Just when she thought it could get no worse, her eyes stung as the room was filled with light. There was a loud creak as the door swung open, and she tried to hide her face in her shoulder.

“Ah, you’re awake.” a voice crooned. It didn't yet have a face as she eyes were still adjusting to the sudden burst of brightness. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her sight.

“Are you wondering what you’re doing here?” he said tauntingly. “I know you must be, you’re a clever little thing from what they tell me.”

She said nothing, nor gave any indication of an answer, but her heart felt like it was torn from her chest when eyes finally focused. The creepy guy from the coffee shop she stopped into everyday she made her to Peter’s… _oh God_ , she thought, _they've been following us for weeks_. 

“Aren’t you going to answer?” he beamed, teeth bared, making her whimper softly. “Not even a little bit? Not a word?” When she stayed still, trying her very best to appear as intimidating and powerful as she could in her position, he traced his finger tip along her jawline, in much the same way that Peter had seconds before he first kissed her. It made her shudder and her insides tighten and she had never needed the company and reassurance of her lover as much as she did in that moment.

“Well, you must be wondering.” he said, his tone having gone from sickeningly playful to cold and harsh in a matter of seconds. “You have something my Alpha wants, and we're going to take it from you.”

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_16th September - 1:30pm_

Peter was running as fast as his legs would carry him. He’d already called Derek, yelling down the phone to meet him at Scott’s house. His nephew had been confused, but he hoped the urgency - or rather, blind panic - in his voice was enough to make him take him seriously. He couldn't find the car keys, but he was so desperate to get to Scott’s so he gave up and started running, take a cut through the woods.

He’d phoned Lydia’s phone fifteen times. Every time, it had gone straight to voicemail and he was getting more and more frantic. He’d phoned Allison, demanding she go to Scott’s house as soon as possible as well.

With every passing second, the fear and panic and frustration in him grew, and he was starting to find it difficult to distinguish the emotions that were his and the emotions that weren't. He wasn't looking forward to explaining to everyone just how he could feel them, although he suspected Derek already knew, which meant Stiles did, and in all likelihood, that meant Scott did. Either way, he was first in line for an ear-bashing if he knew the insufferable teenagers of Beacon Hills, and in Allison’s case, some shrill squeaking.

Scott’s house came into view, and he slowed to a jog as he approached the door. He could hear Derek and Stiles already inside, and he pushed open the door without knocking. Derek was staring at him like he had escaped from the madhouse, Stiles looking irritated and Scott looked worried.

“What the hell is all this about?” Stiles demanded the second he crossed the threshold.

“Lydia.” he said shortly. “She’s in trouble.”

“What?” Allison came round the corner from the kitchen. “How do you know?”

“That doesn’t matter.” he snapped. “All I can say is that she is in danger.”

Derek closed his eyes, rubbing them with the balls of his hands. He looked conflicted, confusion and frustration emanating off of him. There was little doubt in Peter’s mind that he knew exactly how he knew, and was currently battling with himself over what to say, if anything.

“You expect us to believe that Lydia is in danger, just because you say so?” Stiles snorted. “You won’t tell us how you know... do you know where she is?”

He paused, blowing out a breath. “No.”

“Okay, Lydia is in trouble. We don’t know how you know, where she is, what state she is in… basically, we have your word and you have nothing else to offer us.” He laughed. “This is ridiculous.”

Peter glared at him before glancing at Scott. Scott was, more than Stiles ever would be, good at reading people, and he was looking at Peter with genuine confusion in his eyes, like he was trying to figure him out. Scott’s near supernatural empathy was yet to fail him, and Peter prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that it wouldn’t start now. If Scott took a chance on him, Stiles would follow soon enough. Derek had his own reasons, and Allison would take any lead on her best friend.

“Why do you even care?” Allison snapped, finally throwing in her two cents.

He growled without meaning to, getting more and more wound up trying to convince a bunch of teenagers that he was right. “She’s my friend.” he said hotly.

There was noise of protest from Stiles and Allison, but Derek snapped at them to shut up. They both stared at him incredulously, but he glared at them. “She’s been coming around for months now, getting information on banshees. She’s been staying with us for over a week while her mom is on holiday.”

“She’s not picking up her cell,” Scott piped up, waving his phone in the air. “Lydia always picks up.”

“She left mine hours ago…” Allison said slowly. “Oh God, something really has happened. She should have gotten to yours in less than half an hour.”

Allison’s agreement made Scott nodd, and Stiles begrudgingly agreed that they had a point. While the three of them came up with a plan to try and find her, Peter grabbed Derek and yanked him into the front garden, hoping that Stiles’s incessant yapping was enough to block out the sound of their conversation from Scott’s keen hearing.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Derek muttered. 

Peter nodded. “It’s fear, she’s terrified, completely terrified. But, if she left Allison’s hours ago, and I only started feeling this, what? Ten minutes ago? That means they knocked her out.”

“So, she’s being held, not chased.” Derek put the pieces together easily enough. “You need to tell them. How did you figure it out, anyway?”

“She hears people like they’re broadcasting at volume eleven, but only when she’s near them, or concentrating.” he explained, keeping his voice low. “But, she only hears me when we’re not together. I think the fact she is a banshee means that this connection has manifested into something… different.”

Derek scoffed. “A connection? That’s what you’re calling it? Peter, you’re bloody soulmates, not pen pals.”

 

**~.~.~.~**

_16th September - 6:45pm_

She could hear nothing but quiet muttering, dulled through the thick door to the room she was being held in. Having shuffled far enough back to lean against one of the cold stone walls, she had managed to alleviate some of the exhaustion that was taking over her. The effort it took to stay upright while tied up and suffering from what felt like a mild concussion was draining, at best.

The initial terror had lifted slightly. Having no access to a clock, she could only guess she’s been in the room for a good few hours, since it was beginning to get darker. She knew no one would keep someone hostage, with a guard outside the door at all times, for that long if they didn’t have a plan beyond killing them. It was a small consolation, but she didn't even want to think about what they would do to her if they didn't get what she had that they wanted. She was achingly conscious of her growling stomach, having skipped breakfast at Allison’s. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, and had only had a couple of glasses of orange before she was taken. It was at this times like that when Lydia wished she had a less sophisticated understanding of human anatomy, because she knew exactly what it would feel like when dehydration started to kick in, and when lack of food started to take it’s toll.

But there was something new. Anger. Rage. Pure, blind, unadulterated fury. But, it felt foreign. Like she was seeing someone else’s outrage from a glass box. She remembered all the things Peter taught her about focusing her powers; she closed her eyes, ignored any sounds, and tried to imagine what she felt as a thing she could see, touch, hear, in front of her. But, she came up blank. The only thing she could see was Peter. She banged her head of the wall in frustration.

It wasn’t long before she lost her sense of time again. There wasn't even a slither of light coming through the tiny window, which meant they'd had her all day. Had she been asleep at all? She wasn’t sure, she was so tired that she might have been, but anytime she came close to sleeping, her body lolled to the side and she jerked awake. It was torturous.

“What do we even need with her?”

The gruff voice came from behind the door, and she looked up in surprise. She’d barely heard a sound out of her captors since she awoke, save for the ominous words of the coffee boy.

“I told you,” came another voice, this time female. “Andrew has a bone to pick with a wolf in this town, and apparently, she’s the best way to him.”

Which wolf? It was most likely Peter or Aiden. If they were going for Scott, they’d go for his mother, or Kira, or Stiles, or in fact a lot of different people before they ever went to her. Derek? If they did their research properly, they’d go for Stiles. But, Peter or Aiden? Aiden had certainly caused a lot of trouble when he was part of the Alpha pack, so it wouldn’t be entirely surprising if there was a target on his back, but they had barely spoken in months.

Which left Peter.

Which left a painful ache in her chest and a sensation like a knife wound in her gut.

Lydia wasn’t blind, deaf or stupid. She knew they had crossed the boundary from casual fucking to fully-fledged-if-unacknowledged-relationship some time ago. In fact, they’d made that transition rather quickly. Having spent a few hours a week round his apartment for the best part of two months, only to continue this but with mind-blowing sex, they’d found a rhythm that suited them down to the ground. And, as much as she wanted to deny it, his sometimes excessive need to protect her and shield her and generally tear out the tongue of any man who looked at her was… endearing. Jackson had defended what was his, but because she was a trophy. Aiden didn’t give a damn what she did when they weren’t together, but Peter seemed to genuinely care.

And that scared her. What scared her more was that she cared, too. It was supposed to be a few weeks of fun with a hot older guy but he started learning when she was angry and making her hot drinks using the recipe that his sister taught him and letting her be herself without feeling the need to make a comment on how shallow or superficial she usually was. He pushed her to be better, to stand her own two feet, to push back. It was the most mentally stimulating relationship she had ever had in her life.

It went from enjoying the view of him in those v-neck t-shirts to enjoying his company, to looking forward to leaning up against him in bed, debating the world, all week.

But, maybe they really did just have a bone to pick with Aiden.

“Oh yeah, Peter Hale, right?”

_Fuck_.

A wave of anger hit her again, but this time she was almost certain it was entirely her own. She was going to scream until their ears bled when she finally got the stupid tape off her face.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you said this happened years ago?”

“It did, but Alpha gets what Alpha wants, you know that.” the woman sneered. She had an accent; it sounded European, or Mexican, maybe? Lydia wasn’t sure. All she knew was there was an Alpha baying for Peter’s blood and she stuck in a basement, banging her head off the wall.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_18th September - 2pm_

Her stomach was physically painful, she was so hungry. Her back was agony from sitting in the same position for so long. Her throat was painfully dry. All she wanted was a good meal, a pint or four of water and a very long bath.

What she hadn’t anticipated was the boredom. And the loneliness. Judging from the light that fell through her only tiny window, she had been in the basement for about 48 hours. She had spoken to no one. She had eaten nothing. She had barely moved. She was cold and miserable and the damp on the floor had soaked into her clothes and when put all together, time moved so slowly that she thought she might go insane.

Having been stuck with nothing but her own thoughts for two days, she had tried sleeping, but it was damn near impossible with her hands tied tightly behind her back and her stomach growling loud enough to wake the dead. She wasn’t sure if she had slept, or she had been awake the entire time. All she knew was the energy it took to keep her from tipping over tied up the way she was was exhausting, and the first thing she was doing was grabbing some food, going for a bath and then forcing Peter to nap with her. She hadn’t realised how much she enjoyed the company of other people until she wasn’t aloud it.

She closed her eyes, trying to envision the way his face looked so peaceful when he slept, something she rarely got to admire because he awoke hours before her almost every day. So unconflicted, no hint of sarcasm or bitterness or pain on his features. His face inspired so many lovely sensations; kisses to her hair, the smell of his cologne, his amazing home-made mochas. Of course, the last one made her body ache for food or drink, and she was right back where she started.

The door opened again, and just as before, she had to squeeze her eyes shut to try and dissipate the lights dancing in her vision. When she opened them, expecting to see the greasy creep who had visited her last time, a sickening drop in her stomach, but she was wrong. The figure in front of her was significantly smaller, thinner, more petite. Very female.

Lydia eyed her cautiously, but there wasn’t the sadistic sneer on her face that had been on the other guy’s. It was nervous, anxious, fearful. She had a bottle of water in her hands, and Lydia’s heart began to beat almost audibly.

“They’ll kill me if I remove the tape,” she explained almost apologetically. “so I’m going to cut a little hole in it. Don’t scream, please. They have some sort of plan for you but it won’t matter if they have to slit your throat, and trust me, Liam has no qualms about doing that.”

As the girl drew closer, it became clear she was just as young as Lydia herself, if not younger. She was obviously in the throes of her teenage rebellion, all skinny jeans and big black combat boots, and when she turned around to check no one was coming, she saw there was a massive slit down the back of her purple vest. Her jet black hair was cut short into a pixie crop, and even in the relative darkness of the room, her eyes were bright grey and terrifyingly expressive.

“I’m Lola. You’re Lydia, right?” Lola sat on the floor beside her, crossing her legs underneath her. “They don’t really tell me anything, I’m just a kid.”

She was speaking as if she expected a reply, but all Lydia cared about was the bottle of water in her hands. “Like I said, you can scream and you can die, or you can not scream and you can drink.”

She held up a small pocket knife, glimmering in the light from the corridor. She waved it, as if asking permission to cut the tape, and Lydia nodded. Carefully, Lola pressed the knife against her mouth and a small hole was made. She then pulled a straw out of her pocket, opened the water, and pushed the straw through the hole in the tape, the other end in the bottle.

It was cold and refreshing and she could have drank it all day. It slid down her throat, soothing her pain and easing the tension slightly. When she ran out of air, she inhaled sharply, nearly choking, but she didn’t care. Lola removed the straw, smiling slightly at how much she had managed to drink so quickly.

“I tried to explain to them that you’re worth more alive than dead, but like I said, I’m just a kid.” she shrugged. “I’m sixteen, year or so younger than you I think?” Lydia nodded.

“I was turned when I was twelve,” she carried on without a care in the world. “along with my sister, but she was nineteen. Worst camping trip _ever_.”

Lydia would have laughed if she could have. This girl was something else. Her skin was obviously thick as a wall and like any teenager, she was irritated about being left out but even though she looked like an extra from a bad horror film, she was risking God only knows what to come and give Lydia some water and chat about her family. Normally, she would have just gotten annoyed, but two days with nothing but the sound of her own brain meant she would take what she could get.

“Andrew - that’s our Alpha - he found us when we ran away from home,” she said sadly. “but between you and me, I think he’s a dick.” The sound that came out of Lydia might have been a laugh, but with the tape over her mouth, it sounded more like she was choking.

Lola looked amused, but she held up the water and Lydia nodded enthusiastically. She drank heavily until there was none left, but Lola pulled another out of her bag, grinning.

As Lydia drank, she spoke. “I’m sorry you have to be here, it’s not fair. Andrew has this crazy grudge against your mate because of something that happened years ago. Everyone told him this was a stupid plan - except Liam, the grubby prick - but he’s our Alpha. Most of us owe him so much that we wouldn’t dare go against what he wanted.”

Lydia’s eyebrow went up at the word ‘mate’. She’d heard other werewolves call their partners their mates, but when the term applied to her it felt weird. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a werewolf, but ‘mating’ with Peter sounded… well, it wasn’t her chosen term for it.

Lola stayed until the second bottle was finished, chatting amicably with her - well, talking, as Lydia couldn’t reply - but then smiled sadly, telling her that she needed to go before someone came down. It was with a heavy heart that she watched the funny younger girl leave, but just before she resigned herself to anothet two days of starving and darkness, Lola turned around.

“Andrew left Peter a message this morning,” she muttered. “if your mate is half as good as they say he is, you’ll be out of here in less than two days. Do us a favour and ask him not to kill me, okay?”

It hurt to smile, as the tape was tight on her skin and restricted it’s movement, but the simple idea of Peter coming to save her soon was enough to made tears spring to her eyes. She nodded furiously, making a mental note to remind Peter that the rest of the pack didn’t actually want to take her, but to find ‘Liam’ and tear out his liver. The tears fell down her face, but they were of joy, not pain or fear or hunger. Never for a second did she doubt him, but this… this was pure hope. Peter was coming for her.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_18th September - 3pm_

Peter put his fist through the trunk of the tree next to him, feeling the wood and possibly parts of his hand shatter, splinters flying everywhere. Derek’s voice became background noise to him as he physically fought with himself to stop his body transforming. Peter had always prided himself on being very much in control of himself, his wolf, his body. He was impulsive and reckless but everything he did had a reason. In that moment, Peter Hale was losing control, and it scared him.

“For fucks sake, Peter,” Derek yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to face him. “calm down! You are no use to Lydia if you’re stuck in the woods, losing your mind.”

“What if it isn’t werewolves?” he finally choked out, ignoring his nephew.

“What?”

“She’s not dead, I’d know if she was dead.” he said, clearing his throat, his hand finding the space over his heart almost absently, but the gesture wasn't lost of Derek. “But, if she’s not dead, that means they’re keeping for her something, but what if this isn’t supernatural? What if this is humans?”

Seemingly convinced that his uncle wasn’t going to turn and start tearing apart a dorest, Derek let his hands drop from Peter’s shoulders. He stayed tense, just in case, but shook his head. “I don’t follow?”

“A werewolf would just kill her or bite her, but she’s not dead and she’s immune,” he sighed. “but you and me both know that humans can be the real monsters. What if this is just some sicko who’s been following her home from school?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said simply. “because if it’s a human, we’ll find them and the world will be short one less pervert. If it’s a pack, we’ll find them, and break as many bones as we need to, to get her back.”

Peter felt a surge of affection for Derek - strange given what he’s just offered to do but Derek seemed to avoid violence and he’s flattered his little nephew would offer to kill for him - and enveloped him in a hug. It wasn’t like the kind of hug that Scott and Stiles shared, because they, despite not sharing a bloodline, were family. Derek and Peter might share a branch on the family tree but there’s a lot of history to clear before they start grinning like idiots when they see each other and jumping from foot to foot when they hug.

Derek pulled away, but kept a hand on his shoulder. “Soulmates are as rare as banshees. Does it weird me out? Yeah, it does, but fate clearly thinks this is a good idea.”

Derek ‘King of the Backhanded Compliment’ Hale gave him a half smile, and the two men set off back for their apartment.

It didn’t take long upon entering the building for both Hales to look at each other in confusion; there was somebody in their place. It was a foreign smell that neither of them could place, but it was human, which made them both extremely anxious.

Creeping round the corner like a couple of kids sneaking out of the house, they discovered a girl, no older than Derek, stood, gaping at their door. Peter sighed.

“Dajo, what the hell are you doing here?”

The girl turned around, her wild, black curls springing around her face as she did so, but her usually curious eyes were brimming with tears. Dajo was one of Peter’s many contacts that he had picked up over the years, along with other werewolves, experts and a plethora of other interesting and useful people. Dajo, despite her eccentricities, was an extremely capable witch, with a memory like a sponge. She had been the first one he went to looking for information on soul mates, which is why her teary arrival at his front door hours after Lydia’s disappearance made him very uncomfortable.

“Peter, I am so sorry…”

“What the hell?” Derek caught up with him. “Who is this?”

“Derek, this is Dajo, my know-it-all witchy friend, Dajo, this is Derek, my irritable nephew.” He made the introductions are quickly and sarcastically as possible. “Dajo, talk.”

“You phoned me, asking about banshees,” The witch's voice was strained, as if she was fighting to keep it under control. "and it reminded me of when I met you in El Paso and all you could do was ask question after question. I just... I didn't even think, I just gave her a ring to chat, and we got talking and I told her about what you asked about, and... oh, God, I'm so sorry, Peter."

“Who was it?”

She bit her lip, stepping back a few paces. Her eyes flickered back from him to the door and back again. There was a symbol on it. It looked like someone had burned it on to the metal; a horizontal line going through an ‘x’. He ran his fingers down the line, and they came back black; someone had definitely gone to some measure to make sure he got this message.

“Is that a rune?”

Dajo nodded. “It means ‘brother’, and the way it is burned into the door is supposed to be a warning.”

“Why would someone send you a message about a brother?” Derek asked, joining him at his side.

“Who did you call Dajo?” He ignored his nephew, but he already knew the answer. There was only one person in the world who would send a message like this. Many people might have died at his hand, but there’s only one who had a brother with a thirst for revenge that matched his own.

“Ava.”

“Peter, give me some bloody answers!” Derek snapped. “What is going on?”

This was going to be painful, he knew. Peter was quite content with his status as the town pariah but openly discussing his crimes was another thing altogether. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t actually revel in the murder of innocent people, especially those who didn’t deserve to die. This was a ghost a decade old, and he’d even forgotten he was running from it. Unfortunately, his past had caught up with him and had Lydia in it’s hands.

“A very long time ago, I went travelling,” he said slowly, desperately trying not to think about what sort of treatment his girl was getting at the hands of this person. “and I found a pack, in Texas. It's where I met Dajo, and we were all travelling together for a while... but me and the Alpha got into a bit of a disagreement.”

“You get into a lot of disagreements.”

“Charming observation, Derek.” he scowled. “This time was different, because his little brother tried to break us apart, but he got caught in the crossfire.” There was a heavy pause. “He died.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Dajo is based on real life Dajo. She totally won my 'be an eccentric lil witch' competition. Flattery gets you everywhere with me.


	4. Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Lydia find each other again... but Peter finds something else, too.

**_“This is a gift, it comes with a price; who is the lamb and who is the lion? Midas is king and he holds me so tight, and turns me to gold in the sunlight”_ **

 

_18th September - 4:30pm_

She didn’t know when she had passed out. Maybe it was hunger, or maybe it was exhaustion, but at some point between Lola leaving her with fresh hope in her heart and being half-awake and semi-conscious of the overwhelming smell of blood, she had tipped over and the rest was black.

She was in the slightly fuzzy place between deep sleep and being awake, her eyes fluttering open and closed. There was the peculiar sensation of being able to move her arms but it ached so much that she didn’t bother. Her jaw clicked loudly when she opened it, making her wince, but the most peculiar sensation of all was no longer laying on the cold, damp stone. Instead, she was leaning up against something solid and warm, and Lydia didn’t give a damn what it was because it wasn’t wet and it didn’t make her skin itch so she huddled into it as tightly as possible.

“Lydia,” a familiar voice said somewhere in the room. “hey, come on. Look at me, sweetheart.”

Almost instinctively, her hands grabbed fists of fabric, clutching whatever she was leaning on closer to her.

“C’mon darling,” the voice said again. “you’re a tenacious little thing, so don’t try and pretend otherwise.” There was a hand underneath her chin, lifting her face up. Still hazy from being woken so abruptly, it took a few seconds for her vision to adjust and for her eyes to focus. A face was forming in front of her eyes, and she blinked a few times to try and clear some of the sleep from her sight. The first thing that struck her was the eyes; clear, blue, like the sky in the early morning after a storm. And filled with concern.

“Lydia!”

The sound of her name was like a wipe over her eyes, suddenly everything vividly clear. Peter was looking down at her, watching her carefully, softly whispering words of encouragement. With clear vision came the restoration of her other senses; blood, there was a lot of blood. She daren’t think who it belonged to, but she hoped at least some of it was that slimy git, Liam’s. The next thing she noticed was the pain, because there was a lot of that, too. In her head, behind her eyes, her wrists felt raw and every muscle seemed to ache at the slightest movement. But, there was a hand in his hair, and a hand in one of hers and nothing else mattered.

“Peter?” she choked out. He let out a noise of relief, half a sigh and half a laugh. His arms tightened around her and she was suddenly pressed to his chest and even though the movement and the pressure hurt like hell, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder.

He scooped her into his arms properly, lifting her off the floor, keeping her pressed up against him as close as she could be. Over her shoulder, she saw a corpse, completely mangled, chest torn out and drenched in his own blood. She knew on some level she should have been disgusted and she should have looked away but she recognised him as the man who had taunted her when she woke up and touched her and made her want to vomit and maybe, Peter was a bad influence on her, because she caught herself just before she smiled.

As they exited the room, she caught sight of the rest of her friends; Scott, Allison, Kira, Stiles, Isaac, the twins and even Derek. Derek, however, was covered in blood. His t-shirt was soaked in it. Lydia pushed herself out of Peter’s arms, stumbling when her feet hit the floor from being on the floor for two days but Peter kept a grip on her arms, keeping her standing.

“What happened?” she asked Derek, although her voice was still raspy from the lack of water and lack of use.

Derek looked down in confusion. “Not mine. That guy,” he said, pointing towards the ravaged body in the room behind them. “tried to get Peter and you when your backs were turned.”

Lydia gaped at, staring from the body to him. “You- _you_ did that?!”

“It’s a Hale thing.” Peter reassured her jokingly. “Where are the rest of the pack?”

“They ran.” Scott grimaced. “But, there’s two other bodies that way, another guy and a girl.”

Alarm bells went off in Lydia’s mind. “The girl, did she have short, black hair?”

Everyone looked at her like she was insane. Scott shook his head slowly. “No, she was a blonde.”

“Right, well,” Peter said, dismissing her apparent insanity. “you need to get home, like, now.” Without warning, he grabbed her by the back of the thighs and she was lifted back into his arms, cradled against his body. She noticed there was a few weird looks from their friends, but no one made a comment, for which she was grateful, because she needed a shower and at least eight cups of coffee before she would be ready for _that_ conversation. Part of her wanted to protest that she wasn’t an invalid and was perfectly capable of walking on her own, and part of her was more than grateful that he was carrying her, because she was exhausted and hungry and thirsty and felt so damn safe in his arms. Even in a t-shirt stained with blood, Lydia didn’t remember the last time she felt protected.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_18th September - 5:15pm_

Her hair was still damp from her shower, the rope burns on her wrists and legs had stung under the hot water but Melissa had come over to properly dress them with antibiotic and bandages. Peter had practically forced a bowl of herbed pasta down her but she didn’t need to be encouraged. The shower had washed away the grime and dirt from her skin, and the hot water had partially eased her aching body. Peter knew she was far from okay, but the physical wounds were healing and if he knew anything about his banshee, it was that she had skin thicker than stone. She’s be okay, at some point.

Everyone except Peter and Derek had cleared off when they reached the loft, and the only other person there had been Melissa, who had prescribed her food, sleep and some pain medication. While Lydia was getting seen to by Scott’s mother, who had joked about being the den mother and nurse-on-call for a werewolf pack, Derek and Peter had showered, washing away the blood. Peter watched the red water spiral down the drain, feeling nothing more than calm and serene and perfectly content… or, he would be, when Lydia’s cuts and bruises had healed and he could close his eyes without seeing the image of her crippled body, lying awkwardly on the floor, her mouth hanging open.

His jaw tensed when he remembered; he could barely check for her heart beat, his own beating so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear it. For one terrible second, he truly believed she was dead. He hadn’t felt a thirst for revenge like that since the fire.

On some level, he understood Andrew’s need to come after him. When he lost Talia, he had been crippled by the desire to tear out the throats and burn the corpses of everybody who had been involved. But, the fire at the Hale House had been a deliberate attack, where his entire family had died; humans, werewolves, mothers, fathers, children. He lost everything in that fire. The death of Andrew’s little brother had been tragic, and at the time, Peter felt guilt like he had never before in his life felt. But, it was also an accident, and in the rush and anger of their fight, no one knew who it had been who had dealt the final blow.

Andrew had ran with the rest of his pack. Peter had gotten a bloody good hit in, his claws ripping open his neck, but he was too preoccupied with finding Lydia and making sure she was okay to care about him then. He had crawled off while everyone else chased off the rest of his pack. The three dead bodies in the basement had been torched, and a very sturdy padlock had been chained around the doors to the abandoned clothing warehouse the pack had been hiding in. When he knew Lydia was alright, he was going to find them, and he was going to kill him. No one could stop him, not this time.

But, in that moment, he was content to sit on his sofa in clean clothes, with his girl’s head in his lap as she shovelled toast into her mouth. He was running his fingers lightly through her hair, careful of the bruise that was blossoming on the back of her head from the blow that knocked her out.

“Peter,” Derek said softly, pulling a clean t-shirt on as he came down the stairs. “everyone’s coming.”

Lydia made a grunting noise, continuing to chew on her toast. Peter nodded as Derek made his way over to the door, opening it to let in the entire Beacon Hills menagerie. One by one, Scott, Stiles, Kira, Allison, Isaac, Aiden and Ethan all filed in, shortly followed by Melissa and Sheriff Stilinski. _Wow_ , he thought, _Derek really did mean everyone_.

Lydia pulled herself up from Peter’s lap when they came in, and the first thing Allison did was pull out a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Lydia laughed. “Did you bring me break-up ice cream after a kidnapping?”

“Well,” she shrugged. “we haven’t assigned a flavour for kidnapping, although we probably should.”

Lydia wrapped her arms around her best friend’s neck, before bounding off to the kitchen to get a spoon. Everyone took a seat somewhere in the place, although considering the loft wasn’t meant to house twelve people, Melissa and the Sheriff took the chairs, Allison and Stiles grabbed stools from the breakfast bar, Derek sat on the other end of the sofa and everyone else propped themselves on the floor, against the walls or chairs. Lydia came trotting back through, looking oddly happy with herself considering the circumstances, armed with cookie dough ice cream and spoon. She herself sat in between Peter and Derek before swivelling around to put her head back in Peter’s lap.

Everyone looked at her like she had lost her mind entirely, except Derek, who was trying to cover his snickering by having a small coughing fit.

Scott, ever the pacifist, seemed to sense a potential disaster building, so quickly spoke up before someone with slightly less tact could. “So, I guess there is a super thrilling tale behind this latest attempt on one of our lives?”

Peter nodded. “Long story short, I went travelling, about ten years ago. I was backpacking around Texas, had taken a train to El Paso and was getting ready to transform in Franklin Mountain State Park, and I found a pack.”

“They had this new wolf, a runaway from Mexico who had just crossed the border - Ava, was her name - and they were going to use the state park to try and teach her how to control her transformations.” he explained. Ava had been fresh out of college, full of big ideas and loud opinions. But, she’d also been hot tempered, impulsive and downright dangerous when she got riled up. Actually, he was grateful she had left such an impression, or he wouldn’t have had a clue who Dajo was talking about. “Me and the Alpha, Andrew, got talking, and I travelled with the pack for a couple of weeks.”

“But, Andrew was… well, he got his kicks from hunting, and I’m not talking about deer and rabbits. We got into a fight, and it ended badly.”

“Really?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You pissed a guy off so badly that he hated you ten years after a fight?”

Peter glared. “No, he hates me because his little brother tried to break the fight up. It was nearly a full moon, we were all on edge, things got out of control. To this day, I don’t know who it was in the end, but his brother died. Bled out.” He blew out a breath, watching each of their faces, waiting for the barrage of insults and accusations, but they never came. He pinched the spoon out of Lydia’s hand and took a mouthful of her ice cream.

“Hey!” she protested. “Get your own ice cream!”

“But it was an accident, right?” Allison piped up, giving her friend a weird look.

“Well, yeah…”

“That’s…” Stiles said slowly. “excessive. Like, way excessive.”

There was a murmur of agreement around the room, even from the twins, who Peter was sure held dead raccoons on a higher social standing that they did him. Even Kira, who he hadn’t had any direct contact with, gave him a sympathetic look, although she might have been bias, considering she wasn’t around when he was going through his murder-y phase.

“Er, question?” Isaac said, putting his hand up. “Why Lydia? Why not Derek?”

Derek snorted with laughter, not able to hold it anymore, and Stiles starting laughing the second he caught his eye. He glanced down in time to catch Lydia rolling her eyes. Melissa and the Sheriff must have caught on pretty quickly, because their jaws dropped to the floor like a stone in a pond, but everyone else seemed completely oblivious.

“Why is everyone laughing?” Scott looked around wildly for an explanation. “I don’t get it. Stiles?”

Stiles was hiding his face behind his hands, trying to cover his amusement, but his chest was jumping up and down as he tried to catch his breath. Every time he looked up, him and Derek caught each other’s eyes and they both started again. Even Derek was laughing in earnest. Lydia kicked him in the side, not looking up from her ice cream.

The next person to catch on was Aiden. Lydia must have told him there was someone else when she ended their little dalliance, because he looked at Peter with death in his eyes and a growl in his throat. Peter couldn’t help himself, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the twin.

Aiden’s eyes flashed blue, but Ethan put a hand on his arm, trying to calm his brother down. Scott noticed, and his confusion turned to bewilderment.

“Aiden!” he snapped. “What the hell, man?”

“She’s fucking him.” the twin - tweedle-dee, as Peter called him - snarled. “That’s why that psycho took her.”

Derek stood up abruptly when he saw Aiden, his own eyes glowing, claws out. Scott and Isaac lurched forwards, Allison managed to pull a knife out of… actually, he wasn’t sure, she was wearing a dress with no pockets. The sheriff touched his hand to his gun just in case, but Melissa McCall - dear, sweet, Melissa, whom Peter held in the highest regard - simply raised an eyebrow. Apparently, the nurse had faced worse than a werewolf show down.

“Back down, Aiden,” Derek growled. “there’s a time and a place.”

Lydia caught Peter’s eye, and sat up from his lap, and Allison quickly crossed the room to stand behind her, knife in hand. Peter stood and walked over to his nephew’s side, the tension in the room painfully thick. Kira looked terrified, stood slightly behind Scott who had moved in front of the second he saw Aiden’s eyes. Stiles’s eyes were flicking from Derek to the twins with genuine fear in them. Everyone was standing, as if waiting for the tension bubble to pop and someone to explode. And, from the way they were eyeing him, he suspected they thought Peter would blow first.

“Get out.” Derek said calmly. “Just go.”

“Really?” Aiden yelled. “She’s got you whipped, too? Is that why you two were the only ones who came out covered in blood? Protecting the new Hale family toy?”

“Get out, _now_.” Peter seethed. Ethan was physically pulling on his brother’s arm, looking warily at both Hale men, but Aiden was getting more and more riled up. Wolves were territorial, and possessive, and werewolves were not different. It would have been funny if it had been any other girl, but it wasn’t ‘any other girl’, it was Lydia.

“Or what, Hale?” he taunted. “What the hell are you going to do to me?”

He knew she was there before he could see or hear her. “I’ll scream until your ears bleed.” Lydia snarled. He tried to ignore the twinge of pride he got at the sound of her threatening a werewolf twice her size, but it rose up in him like a blooming flower. “ _Nice one_.” he muttered. She glanced up, smiling when she caught his eye. “ _Thanks_.”

Ethan let go of his brother’s arm, raising his hands in surrender. At least one of them had something in between his ears.

“You know, Derek,” Aiden scowled. “I’m surprised you’ve got time to worry about your uncle’s plaything. I thought you’d be too busy sneaking around with your new boyfriend.”

There was a thud as Stiles’s phone hit the floor, his face completely devoid of colour. Derek shook imperceptibly, seemingly shocked into silent paralysis. Peter never was one for pity but he felt truly sorry for his nephew and Stiles, because they were in a room full of everyone who mattered to them and some jackass with a hard on for causing trouble had just outed them. Everyone’s eyes were on Stiles, who was looking more and more like a deer in headlights as the seconds passed and so, in an attempt to revert the attention away from him, Peter did what he did best; he grabbed Aiden by the throat and growled.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Aiden to look at him in fear. Or, for everyone to stop and stare at him in confusion. They’d been referring to him as the friendly neighbourhood psychopath for months, why were they all so shocked about him threatening someone?

“I thought only Alphas had red eyes?” Sheriff Stilinski furrowed his brow.

“They do.” Scott, Stiles, Ethan and Isaac all said simultaneously.

Peter let go of Aiden’s throat to turn to them. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“Peter,” Lydia came up from behind him. “look at your eyes.”

He fished his phone out his pocket and used it is a mirror. Ethan used his distraction as an opportunity to grab Aiden by the back of his shirt and all but throw him through the door, throwing Derek an apologetic glance. Stiles turned on his heel and nearly fell over himself trying to get up the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible, and when Scott went to go after him, Allison held a hand out, shaking her head furiously, indicating the way Derek was staring at the stairs forlornly.

But it didn’t matter to Peter because he had red eyes and that meant he was an Alpha. He was an Alpha because he had killed another Alpha, and that meant that Andrew was dead, and he hadn’t run away, so much as crawled away to die. Andrew was dead and Lydia was safe and he was an Alpha and that meant he had a pack.

He needed to pace. That’s what he did when he was faced with a problem he couldn’t solve. Because, he had suddenly acquired a pack of strangers and he had no idea where they were. He turned on his heel and started to walk but was cut off with an arm across his chest and a nurse under his nose. Sheriff Stilinski had stopped him in his tracks and Melissa McCall was glaring at him.

“I won’t pretend to understand what you two have going on,” the good sheriff muttered, indicating with his head to Lydia, who was stood next to Derek, her hand on his arm, his nephew still glaring at the staircase like it had killed his favourite dog. “but know this. Lydia is like a daughter to me, and there isn’t enough square feet of land on this planet for you to run to if you doing anything to hurt her.”

“And I have access to drugs that would make even your freaky supernatural brain bleed, so don’t think you’d get away lightly.” Melissa added, with a glare that would have made Lydia proud. There was a small, dark, corner of his heart reserved for Melissa. Scott, Stiles and Isaac all treated her like their mother, and she treated them all like her sons. She was steadfastly loyal and brave, and even though she was only human, she was the only one - besides Stiles - who would stare Derek in the eye and give him a thorough telling-off. Perhaps even stranger, Derek let her. Even Lydia reined her temperament around the nurse.

He inclined his head slightly, in respect. Normally, he would have flashed his fangs and made an obscene hand gesture, but this was not only his lover’s best friend’s dad, but his nephew’s lover’s dad. It was slightly confusing, but even Peter knew that he had to adhere to certain social niceties

“You have my word, I won’t hurt her.” The sincerity in his voice seemed to shock them both, so he smiled lightly. “On the other hand, and if you tell anyone this - either of you - I will kill you, but Sties has somewhat… gotten under my skin, in recent months. If you give him any grief for his _association_ with Derek, I will shove that sheriff’s badge so far down your throat, they’ll have to cut it out of your intestine.”

There was a pause, before Stilinski held his hand out to Peter, who shook it firmly, and then shook Melissa’s. He expected that he was likely to receive several more threats on his life before the day was out, but he had bigger things to worry about than his girl’s friend’s disapproval. He had a pack to find.

Glancing back over at his nephew and Lydia, the latter had an exasperated look on her face, while Derek simply looked a little bit lost. With the twins gone, Stiles having run upstairs like a bat out of hell, Lydia and Derek lingering at the bottom, it left Allison to glare at him angrily. Scott and Isaac were throwing him odd looks, alternating between looking like they wanted to kill him and wanted to hug him.

Deciding that it was far too sombre, Peter threw his arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Derek glared at him like he would rip his throat out and burn him again. Even Lydia groaned.

Shaking his head, he leaned in to whisper in Derek’s ear. “Go after him.”

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_24th September - 1pm_

Lydia held up the green skirt to her body, then the red one, then the green one again. The green one complimented her hair, but the red one had a stunning pattern on it. She tried them both again. It was odd, shopping after what had happened in the past few months. The whirlwind that was her relationship with Peter, being kidnapped, Peter accidentally becoming an Alpha but having no clue where his pack was, Derek and Stiles accidentally coming out. Actually, know she thought about it, it was a miracle they were all still alive.

“The green one.”

Lydia’s head snapped around to find two woman looking at her. The one she suspected spoke was strikingly pale - especially so in California - with jet black hair that fell down well past her chest in poker straight lengths. She looked nervous, apprehensive, almost. The second was a little taller, broader, much like an athlete, with a heavy tan. Her light brown hair was streaked with blonde in the way that hair did when someone spent a lot of time in the sun, and she wore a casual confidence in the way she stood that made her companion seem smaller in comparison.

“Do I know you?”

The first held out her hand. “My name is Faye McKinnon. I believe you met my sister, Lola.”

“Lola? The girl who brought me water?” She saw it then; the eyes. The startling grey, expressive eyes.

“That’d be the one.” the second woman rolled her eyes. “I’m Ava Montez. Sorry about the whole… kidnapping thing.”

“Bridge under the water.” she said dryly, shaking her hand as well. “A werewolf pack sans an Alpha. I can’t imagine what you want with me.”

“Yes, well, we have a bit of a bad history with our current Alpha.” Ava bit out sarcastically. “We figured the safest bet was going through his elusive soul mate.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. When Peter had recalled his time in Mexico, he failed to mention that Ava - if she was the Ava he spoke about - was a sarcastic bitch. It made her momentarily think that maybe introducing them was a poor idea, because fighting fire with fire often simply lead to a larger fire, but when she thought about it, it probably meant they actually got on quite well. She wasn’t sure which one made her more uncomfortable.

“Soul mate?”

Ava snorted. “Wow, he didn’t even tell you? I can’t wait to hear _that_ conversation.”

Faye was looking increasingly uncomfortable, shuffling her feet and staring at the ceiling. Lydia was torn; Peter wanted to be an Alpha, and Lola was a lovely girl and had even assured her that most of the pack were also lovely, and had no interest in taking part in their previous Alpha’s kidnapping and suchlike. However, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of herding a large group of potentially very angry werewolves straight at Peter.

“I won’t promise you that he’ll do whatever it is that you want him to,” she shrugged, putting the skirts back on the rail. “but I can get him to speak to you.”

There was five of them; Ava jumped into an old red muscle car with a dark haired guy who looked at her like she had the plague. Lola gave a small wave from the front seat of a the car Faye drove, and the awkward blonde with what looked like a serious nervous disposition didn't catch her eye. In less than an hour, they were all driving towards Beacon Hills.

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_24th September - 3pm_

Peter had met other wolves before. He’d gone travelling, spent a lot of his youth doing so, hunting down different supernaturals from werewolves to witches. His thirst for knowledge was, and had always been, one of his greatest assets. But, never in his all his years had he met a pack of werewolves that looked so… beaten.

He knew from years ago that they travelled, never staying in one place. Lydia had already told him that Lola - who he guessed was the too thin one with the hair that fell over her eyes - and her sister were homeless when Andrew picked them up. Homeless and very young. Ava had been on the cusp of eighteen when she crossed the border at El Paso, terrified and alone, newly turned and completely oblivious to what might have happened to her in the small Mexican town she grew up in if people caught onto what she was. Andrew had never seemed like such a predator than he did then; this was a pack made up of young wolves, runaways and scared, and he _hunted_ for them.

Lydia stood slightly in front of him, her hand holding his tightly behind her back, staring them all down. Faye and Lola, born and bred in a small town in Minnesota, were visibly intimidated by the banshee. Ava stared back. The younger, blonde kid who looked just old enough to drink but too scared to try shook in his boots when she caught his eye.

Apart from Ava, there was only a single wolf he recognised. Jared Ashworth must have been in his late twenties, but he looked to be in his mid-thirties with a bad life behind him. He was still angular and silent and brooding - a little like Derek, but with actual malice in his eyes - and he clearly didn’t trust Peter further than he could throw him.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, looking at the younger of the sisters, and her hollowed cheeks with concern.

“We’re not children.” Jared snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t ask when your curfew was, I asked when you last ate.”

Ava elbowed Jared in the ribs. “Day before yesterday.”

And in a matter of seconds, Lydia went from overprotective to unnervingly maternal. Without a word, she started yelling for Derek to get his ass downstairs. When his nephew stumbled downstairs - obviously just woken from a nap - she declared they were going shopping. He started to protest, but Derek, even if he would never admit it, had a bit of a soft spot for Lydia, and he agreed.

Twenty minutes later, there was a veritable feast being prepared in his kitchen. His girl had somehow managed to convince his moody nephew to help her cook, and Allison had turned up not long after they’d got back, a tray of half-eaten lasagne in her hand. She’d regarded the pack nervously, but when she introduced, shaking hands with them all, she calmed down, walking off into the kitchen.

There was several minutes of awkward silence, before Peter blew the air out of his cheeks. “You know, I can’t say I’ve ever been in this situation before, but can someone please say something?”

“Where were you before California?” Lydia burst in from the kitchen, mixing something sweet in a bowl.

“Arizona.” Ava said cautiously, as if the younger redhead might have had an alternative motive.

“Lovely place, I'm sure, I’ve never been.” she beamed. “Have you ever been to Las Vegas? Peter says it’s great for werewolves, because of all the different sights and smells and sounds.”

Trust Lydia to juggle feeding a pack of strangers and forcing them to break the ice. He could practically hear Derek rolling his eyes and Allison sighing from the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before not only was there more wolves in the loft than he ever thought there would be, there was more food, too. Werewolves had the capacity to eat a lot of food, and half-starved ones were downright terrifying when food the standard that Lydia cooked was placed in front of them. Deciding that introducing the two packs early on had clearly been a good idea; Lydia, Allison and Kira had all cornered Lola, and were currently talking about getting her to at least spend a year in high school. Scott and Stiles had forcefully dragged the blonde kid - who had quietly introduced himself as Sam Gideon - into a conversation about sports, and the poor lad no longer looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. As Peter suspected, Derek and Jared had found kindred souls in each other, and were overlooking the enormous rabble with a mixture of confusion and disgust on their faces.

Meanwhile, Ava and Faye had ushered him in the kitchen. The two were obviously close friends, and despite Ava still being quick to speak, her ‘bite first, ask questions later’ mentality still a driving force in her mind, she was one of the oldest and more level headed members of the pack.

“I don’t know what you know about it,” she explained in low tones. “but no one wanted anything to do with Andrew’s revenge plot.”

“I understand.”

“When he told us what he was doing, we thought he was insane.” she shook her head. “And I’m sorry. So, so sorry. When Dajo phoned me, I was talking to Jared about it. Andrew overheard me, and, well… you know how Alphas can be.”

He smirked, but didn’t say anything. “I guess what we’re trying to explain is, you have something really good here. This other pack is… happy. They have lives and school and jobs.” Faye rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “So, I guess, if you’re in the market for a pack..?”

 

**~.~.~.~**

 

_8th October_

Lydia didn’t need to be a banshee to know Peter was feeling very proud of himself.

Faye had a job at a bar in town, and he had even helped wrangle her the tiny studio flat above it. It wasn’t much, but it was an actual roof over her head and a steady job she knew she could keep for more than a week. It was crappy, actually, serving the same three drinks and collecting glasses, but Faye beamed when she was at work like she was doing her dream job.

Unfortunately, the tiny flat above the bar wasn’t big enough for both sisters. Faye had almost cried when Lola left, her little sister clutching Lydia’s hand like a lifeline. Since Lydia was back living with her parents, there was a spare room at the Hale loft, which Peter had offered to Lola. The younger wolf had shaken her head, telling him she didn’t want to inconvenience him, but Lydia had talked her into it.

Sam was still looking for a job, but Stiles had offered him his couch until he got something more permanent. The kid was painfully shy, even in his early twenties, obviously the victim of a terrifyingly mentally abusive relationship with his former Alpha. She’d noticed even Peter was calmer around him, watching himself and what he said. But, if there was anyone in the world who could drag a guy out of his shell, it was Stiles, and the two were on their way to becoming best friends.

Ava and Jared would have happily continued sleeping in their car, but Peter refused. Jared was the one who still eyed him suspiciously, but he had mellowed out since he got a job at a garage. Jared’s father had apparently been a mechanic before Jared had been turned, and the fact that the twenty eight year old could lift twice his body weight and ‘pulled in more female customers than the owner had gotten in ten years’ meant he fit right in. Ava manned the telephone at the sheriff’s station - a job which she got mostly through Stiles, who had taken some convincing from Derek, who had been coerced by Lydia and her terrifying ability to convince Derek to do almost anything. Lydia liked to think she got the points for that one.

The couple slept on the floor in Lola’s room on a blow up mattress, at least until they had the money to get their own place, although Lydia suspected that Peter had other plans.

He’d been, along with Derek and the mind-bogglingly large life insurance sum he’d been given, fixing up the old Hale house. A lot of the structural work had been replaced already, and when the floors and plastering was done, it would be a case of fitting the water and gas, hooking up the power, decorating and furnishing. He’d never admit it, but Lydia knew that Peter secretly craved what he had years ago, a pack and a family, all under the same roof.

But, all in all, the transition to being Peter’s pack had gone incredibly smoothly - largely thanks to her ability to her ability to keep his mouth shut when it needed to be - but there was one tiny thing she needed to know. She’d refrained from asking until he’d gotten the pack settled, but it was making her skin crawl not knowing.

“Peter,” she asked suddenly, leaning up against him on the sofa. “are we soul mates?”

She could, of course, have broached the subject gently, or subtly, but that was much less entertaining, and she might have been rewarded by the slightly irritated side eye he gave her.

“I never knew you felt that way.” he drawled.

She sat up, getting off the sofa, readying herself to yell at him. It was one thing to neglect to tell her that Derek and Stiles were going at it in Derek’s room so that she walked in on one of the most intricate positions she has seen in her life (she was scarred for _life_ ) but this was her fate. The universe’s plan for her and he wasn’t telling her.

“No, you know what?” she stormed. “This is not a joke to me. This is actual destiny. This is something that I carried inside me for seventeen years and never knew about but _you_ did!”

“Does it even matter now?"

“Of course it does!” she yelled. “Some higher power decided God only knows how many years ago that we were, for whatever reason, supposed to end up together. How could you keep that from me? I had to hear from Ava! Even Ava knew?!”

He was staring at her like she was speaking Latin. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water and she was beginning to feel like an idiot. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? No, she was pretty sure that her fate was a big deal.

“When did you find out?”

He swallowed. “When you turned up here, saying you couldn’t hear me and the books, I had a hunch. It was a long shot, but I didn’t have anything else, so I spoke to Dajo about it.”

“And?”

“And, she thinks it is an extension of your banshee powers.” he shrugged. “Soul mates have a connection. I can sense you, and I imagine you can sense me. I can tell when you’re stressed, or angry or whatever, and she thinks that you hearing me is a manifestation of this connection.”

She did the maths. She started coming to Peter for help sometime in June, and she’d started hearing him a few weeks after that. It was already mid-October, which meant he had decided to keep this particular bit of information to himself for months.

“You bastard!” Her hands balled into fists at her side. He’d known for so long, and hadn’t even hinted at it. “That was weeks ago.”

He stood abruptly up off the sofa, and she found he was only a few inches from her. “We also weren’t sleeping together. It was a hunch. Do you actually think I would have told you might be _soul mates_ on a _hunch_ before we were together? Or are you telling me your first reaction _wouldn’t_ have been to stick your heel into my throat?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. “No, you’re right.” her voice came out weaker than she intended. “I’m glad you know me so well.”

Peter groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t get what the big issue is!”

They never fought. Not like she used to fight with Jackson. There was never door slamming or crying or yelling. Peter and her debated - often quite heatedly - but they never fought. Actually, now she thought about it, they managed to avoid butting heads quite well for two such opinionated, stubborn and hot-tempered people. They just never _fought_ , especially not about their relationship. She hated it. “This isn’t like you knowing how many sugars I like in my coffee, or that I hate English but love reading. This is my destiny, my fate, and you held it from me.”

“By the time I knew, we were already together... in some sense of the word.” he smirked, making her want to claw his eyes out of his pretty little face.

Lydia scowled. “But, this is like, huge. Like, true love and destiny and…”

“Well,” he growled angrily. “do you love me?”

“Yes,” The word sounded weird in her mouth and she did a double take at how quickly she responded. “I do.”

“Good,” he snapped. “because I love you too.”

They stared at each other for a good ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Just looking at each other, a matter of inches apart, completely silent. She probably would have gotten more of a reaction out of him if she had told him she going into town, because for seven minutes, at the minimum, Peter Hale simply looked into her eyes like she told him she hated science.

And then he kissed her.

Not a ‘we just told each other we are in love for the first time’ kiss, more of a ‘I need you more than anything in this world’ kiss. The force momentarily took her by surprise, but the sheer amount of emotion he was pouring into their kiss was what nearly knocked her on her ass. Of course she knew there was something between them, and Peter might have been a Grade A drama queen, but he wasn’t about big displays of emotion or affection. He was tracing his thumb over her hand when they held it behind their backs, or kissing the inside of her wrists because he knew she liked it. But, he was kissing her and it felt more like he was claiming her, marking her as his.

So, she kissed him back. Because she was his, even though she would fight him on it, and he was hers… and he would probably fight her on that, too. They were entirely each other’s, and they were wrapped in each other’s arms like the world was ending and the apocalypse was knocking at the door.

They were already tearing at each other’s clothes when he lowered her onto the sofa, not even bothering to remove her underwear, and instead just pushing aside and pumping into her with two fingers. His tongue was silk in her mouth and her body was already shaking with need, and her hands were working on his belt like slaves.

His t-shirt had ended up on the floor somewhere, along with her skirt, which he had all but torn off her body. Her skirt was open, bright red love bites already starting to form across her collarbones and shoulders. Peter shoved his jeans down, just enough so he could push the fabric of her pale pink underwear aside and push into her.

She was on fire. Skin alight like nothing she had ever experienced before, muscles twitching, blood singing. His lips and tongue and teeth were dancing up and down her neck but she could barely think straight long enough to find his neck. She settled for running her nails down his chest, _hard_ , making him growl and buck into her. Dragging his face to hers to kiss him deeply, she sucked his bottom lip, dragging her teeth across it. She pretended not to notice the way he interlaced their fingers, holding her hand tightly as he mercilessly bucked into her, more and more frantically.

It was a shamefully - yet, also spectacularly - short time before Lydia came crashing down. Her muscles spasmed and she gripped his hands so hard she thought she might break them. Her words came out in a single incoherent jumble, and even she wasn’t sure what she said. He came seconds after, his eyes glowing red at the height of his orgasm, his breathing laboured and shallow.

Resting his forehead against hers, he muttered softly to her. “Tell me again.”

“I love you."

He made a noise which she thought might have been an exhausted chuckle. “And I you.”


	5. Cosmic Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is happy and no one is in pain.
> 
> Except the writer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I am probably the worst writer in the whole world for how long this took me. I moved colleges, started some new courses, started watching Supernatural (horrible mistake, I have literally procrastinated everything in my life for about three months) and started an RP blog. Either way, it's here, the epic conclusion, all 11000 words of it!
> 
> Okay, so guess what, it's unbeta'd. Or, I beta'd it, which is pretty much the same thing. I was so tired from writing this, and so eager to post, I probably overlooked about 837383 mistakes but I'll find them at a later date and change it.
> 
> Also, epic conclusion probably isn't the best word. I have a couple of cutesey and smutty lil one shots planned for this, which I will post seperately, and possibly, if I find the motivation, a sequal. I'm working on that plot, though.
> 
> Either way, enjoy!

_**“I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map, and knew that somehow I could find my way back, then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too, so I stayed in the darkness with you”** _

 

_6th June - One Year Later_

 

She tried to be mad, she really did.

 

It had been a year since Peter had found himself an Alpha, and a lot had happened. The Hale House had finally been rebuilt, and was brimming with werewolves. Ava found herself pregnant - she swore there was only one baby on the ultrasound but it looked like she was carrying a whole litter - and even Jared, who was running neck and neck with Derek in the 'Who Can Look The Most Miserable All The Time' race had a wide grin on his face when they broke the news. Derek and Stiles had finally moved in with each other, shortly after Peter moved out into the Hale House. Lydia had it under good authority that the sheriff had spent three hours at the shooting range and Derek had received a wolfsbane bullet in the mail afterwards, but even the older Stilinksi clapped his son on the back when he saw the joy on his face. But, perhaps the biggest change for Lydia herself was the fact she suddenly found herself matriarch of a werewolf pack.

 

And that was why she trying to be mad, but could feel her resolve failing her.

 

Peter was off, trying to get in touch with an old friend who might know something more about banshees - the irony that so much had happened since she first walked through his door with that goal in mind, despite still being none the wiser, wasn't lost on her - which would have left Lydia, sleeping alone in their bed at Hale House. However, it was a rare event for her to sleep alone.

 

The rustling of her duvet and movement of the mattress underneath her told her someone had just crawled into bed beside her. The sun had barely started to rise, but the outline of Ava next to her was just visible. A smaller figure was huddled into her hip, and an educated guess told her it was probably Lola. Ava's feet were resting in Jared's lap, who was leant up against the wall, and Sam was sprawled across the entire bed.

 

The door cracked open, and Faye poked her head in, softly chuckling when she saw Lydia lying awake underneath an entire pack of sleeping werewolves. She carefully crept towards the bed, stifling her laugh at Lydia's expression.

 

"Comfy?" she whispered.

 

"Are you joining too?"

 

Faye shook her head, the faint light of dawn reflecting off of her jet black hair. Faye had put on weight since the previous October; her cheeks were no longer hollow, her skin was pale instead of translucent, and her hair glistened healthily as opposed to hanging like straw. A steady job at the bar, a real roof over her head and regular meals had done her the world of good.

 

"You look busy enough..."

 

"Faye," Lydia muttered. "I think I'll survive one more of you."

 

She hesitated only for a moment before grinning, and shoving her little sister lightly out of the way. Lola gave a sleepy growl, but didn't stir. The phrase 'let sleeping dogs lie' came to Lydia's mind, but she knew that it would take a nuclear explosion to wake the younger McKinnon once she was asleep. And so Lydia fell asleep, not for the first time, to the sound of her pack's breathing, and the steady beat of their hearts.

 

The sun had fully risen when Lydia woke again; Lola draped across her chest as she snored softly, Sam half slipping off the bed. There was something knocking against her side, and it was causing her full bladder to complain loudly at her, but not quite loud enough to make her want to stir the wolves that had spread themselves liberally across her bed.

 

"Ava, your kid is kicking me in the side, for the love of God, turn on your back or something," she groaned, realising who the culprit was. "or so help me, I will start kicking back." There was a growl from where Jared was still half asleep, sat bolt upright against the wall. "Knock it off, Jared, or I'll just kick you." Ava just laughed softly.

 

"Looks like the kids had a party while you were away." came a different voice, tinged with amusement.

 

Lydia opened her eyes, finding Derek and Peter stood over the bed. Derek looked like he was stifling a laugh and Peter looked like he was deciding which of his betas to punch first. She made a move to sit up slightly, but Lola fell down her body, knocking Sam, whose precarious position on the bed meant that he fell on his backside on the floor, half asleep, at his Alpha's feet. Lydia watched as Peter raised a single eyebrow at the blonde, who promptly scrambled to his feet, muttering something about needing to get ready for work and all but ran out the door.

 

Derek still lived in the loft with Stiles, but in the time between Peter becoming an Alpha and then had gave way to some very strange changes in the younger Hale. While he had always been irritable and moody, weeks after Peter and his pack moved into the Hale House, he had gotten angry. He snapped and snarled at everyone, often leaving town in the middle of the night for no reason, only to be seen or heard from days later. Scott picked up on it straight away, as did Peter, but it was only when Jared told her about how a werewolf’s allegiance can change that she realised what was happening. Derek’s allegiance had changed from Scott to Peter. Despite this, he refused to move out of the loft, but it still wasn’t unusual to see him lingering around his childhood home.

Ava sighed. "Stop scaring the youngsters, Peter." She shifted on to her back, her stomach protruding from under her top as if she were to go into labour any moment.

 

Peter ignored her. "Scott and his menagerie are coming over in about an hour; apparently your huntress friend has a new gun and a whole lot of paintballs."

 

"Oh, well, I'm truly sorry to have to miss that, but Lola has her maths final coming up in a few days, and she really needs to revise." Lydia smiled sweetly. In truth, Lola was pretty much set for maths, but getting shot at didn't seem like her idea of fun on a warm, Saturday morning. Peter raised an eyebrow at her, so Lydia gave Lola a subtle jab to the ribs.

 

"Trigonometry." she muttered into the pillow. "Triangles and... squares."

 

Peter looked like he might start to argue, but gave in. "Fine. You two are making breakfast."

 

They all showered quickly, and breakfast was a rushed affair. It always was, a flurry of bacon and eggs and pancakes and coffee. Lola grabbed her books, Ava grabbed a magazine and Lydia grabbed a blanket. She laid it down on the ground, just outside the house, the forest all around them. Scott hadn’t arrived yet, so Jared and Faye were entertaining themselves by seeing who could climb a tree the fastest.

 

Peter dropped onto the blanket next to her, taking a swig from her water bottle. She scowled, but he only grinned in response. Lola was already flicking through her textbook to find the right page, Ava on the edge of falling asleep again. Smirking at him, she leaned over and kissed him. He must have been expecting it, because he was smiling against her lips and his hand was already slipping into her hair. They broke apart when Lola made a scoffing noise.

 

“Peter, stop making out with my tutor,” she said flatly, glaring at him. “I love you both but when you do that, she gets this dreamy expression and starts forgetting formulae and… it’s just a nightmare.”

 

Lydia felt her cheeks go bright red as Peter gave her a massive shit eating grin. “Thanks, Lola.”

 

Stiles chose that exact moment to pull up next to them, Derek exiting his Jeep like it was on fire, muttering about his “stupid car”, “bloody death trap” and “sending it to the dump”. Scott and Kira jumped out of the back seat, landing elegantly on their feet, while Stiles nearly fell out the car.

 

“I’m afraid I shall have to leave you, _mon petit enfer_ ,” he gave an over exaggerated sigh, knowing how much his pet name for her made her blush in front of people. “try to concentrate on the work, okay? Don’t get too distracted…” He was cut off by her delivering a swift blow to his thigh with a closed fist. “Okay, okay, I’m going.” She tried to glare at him, but it came out as a pout. Smirking, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before making his way over to Scott and the rest of the wolves.

 

 

**_~.~.~.~_ **

 

_1st July_

 

These were days he lived for.

 

It was boiling hot, too hot to really do anything. Faye, Sam and Jared were all at work – he felt a stab of pity for Jared, who was likely waist deep in some poor bastard’s engine in the mid-summer heat – and Ava had gone out shopping. It left Peter in a near empty house, with no plans, and the delightful smell of Lydia’s perfume all over his home.

 

She had, in all but name, moved in. Her clothes were in his wardrobe, her toothbrush in his bathroom, and she seemed to be in his house more than he was. He knew her mother was “ _hesitant_ ” about their relationship – although downright murderous seemed a more accurate term – but since Lydia was technically an adult, there was little she could do. There had been times when he was concerned that the reason she spent so much time lounging around his library was because her mother had kicked her out, but she assured him that while tensions were high enough in their house without her hanging around, she did still have a home there.

 

But wherever she lived, he would be glad for days like this. The ones where she rested her head in his lap as he read a book, sipping at a drink. The ones where the sun reflected off of her hair and not even the way it flickered and danced like a flame - the same ones that haunted his dreams - could dampen her beauty. He soaked in every sensation, from the warm summer sun on his skin to how her nails were scratching soft nonsensical patterns on his thigh behind her head.

 

“Lydia?”

 

“What?”

 

Her eyes were still closed, her voice faint as if she were just waking up from a nap, but he’d been listening to her heartbeat for the last ten minutes and he knew she was just relaxing. Between balancing her college application, tutoring Lola, keeping her mother from killing him and keeping Chris Argent from killing Isaac ( _poor kid_ , he thought grimly) as well as her new place in a pack, Lydia had next to no time to herself. Supernatural crises had, at the very least, declined, which was a consolidation.

 

“Any plans for today?”

 

She gave a lazy smile. “You mean apart from working my way through the ice cream in the freezer? None at all.”

 

He was about to invite her to enjoy her ice cream in bed when a noise interrupted him. It wasn’t one he immediately recognized, but the sound of Lola sobbing quietly wasn’t one he was familiar with. Lydia must have sensed his change of mood, because she sat up, staring at him as if to ask what the hell just happened. The front door opened, but the younger girl seemingly didn’t even see them through her tears.

 

“Lola?” Lydia called softly. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she didn’t hear her name being called, but there was the tiniest hesitation in her step and her heart skipped a beat just long enough to confirm that she did. Lydia launched herself off the sofa, following the girl. “Lola Alexander McKinnon, don’t even think about going up those stairs.” She stopped in her tracks – Lydia had a voice that was somewhat difficult to ignore – slowly turning around, furiously wiping away the tears on her face.

 

“What is it?” she said in quieter tones. Lola’s cheeks were red and tear-stained, her eyes bloodshot and her heart was pounding against her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but her words got caught in her throat and she had to close it to stop herself from crying again. Lydia sighed, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her over to the sofa where she’d been leaning against him only moments ago.

 

Peter took his cue, quickly making his way into the kitchen and putting the kettle on. He had a limited experience with crying teenage girls and he quite liked the idea of keeping it that way. It would have been a lie to say he didn’t harbour a soft spot in his heart for the younger McKinnon, electric little thing that she was, but Lydia was far better equipped for that kind of emergency. He made Lola a cup of tea, adding two sugars and a splash of milk.

 

“Come on, talk to me.” Lydia sighed. Peter put the tea on the side next to Lydia, running a soothing hand awkwardly down Lola’s back before making a hasty retreat.

 

He leant against the door, watching them. It was times like this he was glad he had Lydia. Scott was a kid himself, and teenage breakdowns were something he knew. Even Derek could handle a hormone-riddled seventeen year old to some degree, and with varying results. But, Peter found himself at a complete loss at what he could say. He watched as Lydia ran her fingers up and down Lola’s back soothingly, resting her cheek on the crown of her head. He watched as she took something that would have left him speechless and bewildered entirely in her stride as if she were made for it.

 

Lola was practically curled up in Lydia’s lap, shaking and crying as she held her arms around her. Her undying loyalty to the older girl was a subject of great amusement to most people, but he understood it. Lydia was quick, smart, brave, seemingly unfazed by even the largest of catastrophes. To a girl who had to run away from home at twelve, she made a damn good role model.

 

“You need to talk to me,” Lydia muttered into the mess of black hair. “because bottling this up is going to make you sick.”

It took the best part of ten minutes for her to calm down enough to take a few sips of the tea, huddling it to her chest, furiously wiping at her eyes. The sight of Lydia, waiting with a patience she reserved for extremely special occasions, filled him with conflict. She knew he wanted a big family, just like the one he had before the fire, and the way she cared for Lola… he quickly squashed any images she had of Lydia, his baby in her arms, fighting a war inside himself while she combed tangles out of Lola’s hair with her fingers. She glanced up at him, an eyebrow quirked.

“ _What the hell are you doing?_ ” she mouthed. When he shrugged, she rolled her eyes, subtly tapping the space just over her heart with her hand. “ _Calm down!_ ”

 

It took the best part of an hour for Lola to pour her heart out to Lydia about her terror at the prospect of moving away for college. Lydia, Lola and Stiles were all leaving come September - Stiles and Lydia both anxious to get their degrees after their gap year - but Lola was petrified. After living in close quarters with the same people for four years, it was understandable. Faye herself was just as worried, drawing up list after list of things she would need, photocopying timetables, documents, packing bags weeks before she due to leave… it was driving Peter mad, but he allowed her manic worry because it made him feel better about his own panic.

When Lola climbed off the sofa, wiping the residual tears from her face and thanking Lydia, she began to walk towards the stairs, claiming she needed a nap. When she went past Peter, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a one-armed hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She grinned, shoving him lightly, telling him get off her.

“Get up those stairs, McKinnon,” he laughed, flicking her in the back of the head. She looked scandalized, poking him in the chest. They began play fighting, both ignoring Lydia’s remark that they were both children and it was far too hot to be practicing kung fu. Lola went to hit him in the chest but he countered it and she landed on her back. “That was just bad form, sweetheart. I taught you better.”

Lydia cleared her throat. “I’d like to point out that I taught her better. You just kept throwing things at her.”

“Dodgeball is a vital skill and extremely useful for werewolves.” he said tartly. Lola laughed, scrambling up the stairs, and Peter went and slumped on the sofa, resting his head in Lydia’s lap.

Her fingers came up to thread through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, and he let out a low growl. Her chest vibrated with her laugh - music to his ears - and he nuzzled into her legs, closing his eyes and drowning himself in the sensation of her.

“You’re a terrible influence on the kids.” she said, but it was lacking any malice, and sounded almost fond.

He grunted. “You’re a good mom.” There was the slightest hesitation in her fingers, and her heart skipped a beat silently, but she didn’t say anything. They stayed there in companionable silence for a while, Peter’s lips turning up into a smile at the sensation he felt from her; **hope**.

_**~.~.~.~** _

 

_2nd July – One Year Later_

 

The airport was bustling with people, the familiar hum of engines and chattering and wheels on the floor and the voice over the loudspeaker. Lydia adjusted her bag on her shoulders and readjusted her grip on her suitcase handle. There were hundreds of people around her, many of them coming back from a year at college, just like her.

 

Going to college on the other side of the state seemed like a brilliant idea when she had applied, but sitting on a plane for nearly four hours in the boiling July heat was just so far away from her idea of fun. But, it didn’t matter, because she was home now.

 

Making her way into the car park, regretting her choice to wear tights, she took a break to catch her breath. All she wanted was to get home and take a very long bath. She was in the process of deciding which bubble bath she would use when he phone vibrated.

 

She had a text; **little to your left x**

 

She blinked twice before realising what it meant, and sure enough, a little to her left was what looked like the entire population of Beacon Hills, waving frantically. Stiles and Derek were sat on the bonnet of Stiles’ Jeep. Ava’s old muscle car stood out among the other silver and grey cars, the red paintwork gleaming in the sun, Ava herself grinning wildly. Lola and Faye were stood next to her, Lola practically clawing at her sister to let her go. Scott, Isaac, Kira and Allison were all leant up again the bonnet of Sheriff Stilinski’s cruiser, beaming.

 

And right in the middle of the muddle of bodies stood Peter. Arms crossed, half smile, he watched as she started making her way towards them. Even from the distance, she saw him roll his eyes and mutter something to his pack, at which Lola and Stiles started running towards her. By the time Ava had jumped out of her car, Lola had already wrapped her arms around Lydia’s neck. Lydia returned the hug happily, realising only then just how much she missed her pack. When Lola finally let her go, Stiles gave a shy smile, before not-so-subtly scratching his head with his left hand, the sun catching the ring on his finger.

 

Lydia let out a scream, wrapping her legs around his waist as she jumped on him. She half expected him to fall backwards but he managed to brace himself and hug her back without incident.

 

“You got engaged?!” she yelled, her face hurting with the smile on her lips already.

 

“Yep!” Stiles grinned proudly. “I made everyone keep it a secret until you got home; I wanted to see your reaction.”

 

Over his shoulder, she saw Derek grinning. The second her feet touched the floor, she was swept into another tight hug from Ava, who was significantly smaller since she gave birth to her daughter, Emilia. The little brown haired monster would turn a year old in August, and Lydia had missed her.

 

“We have missed you so much!” Ava laughed happily, not letting her go.

 

“Okay, let her go.” Stiles grinned, absently playing with the ring on his finger. “I’m sure there’s someone else she wants to see more than you, Mexico.” Ava stuck her tongue out, punching his arm lightly for the pet name.

 

Lydia gave him a half smile, and he winked. She was so happy for Stiles; college had been good for him, and so had Derek. He’d filled out the long limbs of his youth – he’d never lose that gangly look about him but he looked less like a baby dear at least – and his hair had gotten thicker. There was light stubble on his cheeks, and his eyes shone every time they caught the ring on his hand. He’d finally grown up.

 

But, he was right, too. Despite how much she had missed her pack, she had missed Peter more. Sleeping alone night after night, especially after spending so long at his house where she was guaranteed to never be alone in bed had left her grouchy and miserable. She threw herself into her studies but they felt hollow and pointless when she away from her family, because that’s what they were. They might not be blood related but they were as much a part of her life as her parents, and being separated from them had made her chest ache.

 

The nights where the low mutter of his voice in her head echoed so loudly she gave up all thoughts of sleeping were the worst. The ones where she could feel him, his anger or rage or frustration came in a close second. Even his happiness, the sensation of his joy, left an empty space in her heart, so desperate to see him as he delighted in whatever he was doing.

 

She didn’t even realise she had been making her way to him until they were only a foot away from each other. There was a smug smile on his face, but it was quickly replaced with a wide grin when she threw herself into his arms. He lifted her into the air, nuzzling her neck so she could feel his smile against her skin. She pulled back just enough to kiss him, still beaming like a mad woman. Just in her peripheral vision, she saw Derek throw an arm around Stiles’ shoulders, smiling and shaking his head as his fiancé jumped from one foot to the other at the prospect of having one of his best friends back.

 

She’d been home for a week before she noticed something was up.

 

She’d spent the first two nights back with her parents, telling them about her studies and her life at college. As much as she loved her pack, she loved her real family too. Spending time with them reminded her of before everything got mad and the town was overtaken by the supernatural and her biggest concern was what shade of lipstick to wear. As much as she liked her new self, she did feel a pang of nostalgia for a simpler time every so often.

 

But, her mother had all but pushed her out of the house, telling her to go spend some time with Peter before she started singing and dancing. She’d left, blushing slightly, with the promise to come back for dinner.

 

However, her return to Hale House had left her with more questions than answers. Everyone was being strangely quiet, dodging her questions and leaving the house at odd times. Even Lola, who had rung her every other day since the day she started college, was being suspiciously vague. She knew Lola had made friends in college but had been dying to come back for the summer, but she spent more time out the house than she did in. When Lydia asked, she shrugged, saying she was just exploring the woods.

 

“What is going on?”

 

Derek and Stiles looked up from the dining table, matching innocent expressions on their faces.

 

“We’re eating dinner?” Stiles shrugged, Derek nodding.

 

She scowled. “Stiles, I’ve known you since before you could lie, don’t try and pull that with me.”

 

The two men looked at each other, Stiles suppressing his grin much better than Derek. The effect her friend had on the serious, older man was entertaining to watch, if nothing else. Where he would scowl in the past, he had started to laugh. He no longer regarded other people with irritated distaste, but instead curiosity. God knew he’d never be a social butterfly, but she liked to think Stiles was a good influence on him.

 

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that Lydia was above giving him the third degree.

 

“You’re all up to something,” she snapped. “and you know I will find out what it is.” She turned on her heel, ignoring the sound of Stiles and Derek snickering behind her.

 

It was another eight days before she discovered what the secret was.

 

Her mother had insisted they spend the day with her in the big city, the day before her twentieth birthday. Shopping was a luxury that she hadn’t indulged in for quite some time; although both her parents and Peter offered to give her the money she needed, the enjoyed the independence that came from earning her own money. She started working night shifts at a vintage style café not far from her dorms, all red leather seats and photos of muscle cars on the walls. On the other hand, she missed shopping, and was happy to trawl endlessly through stores with her mother, who was more than content to let her.

 

Her return to Hale House had been… odd. Even in the evening – it was gone nine when they returned – the house was always buzzing with activity. Ava and the baby kept strange hours as it was, and Faye often returned late at night from her shifts at the bar. Lola often waited up for her big sister, and it was a widely accepted theory that Sam had a secret girlfriend he was keeping hush about, if the smell on his shirt and the way he came home late at night for no reason at all meant anything. Yet, the curtains were all drawn, and there was barely a sound coming from the usually noisy house.

 

“That’s weird.” Lydia muttered, putting the key that was always buried under the stones in the front garden in the door. Her hand was on the door handle when something clicked in her mind and she started to laugh. It was the day before her birthday, and her mother had kept her away all day… A wide grin spread across her face. Her mom looked at her as if to ask what she found so funny, but Lydia shook her head.

 

Pushing the door open, she braced for a yell or for lights to turn on or for screaming or anything, but nothing happened. Her nerves frayed as she waited for something to jump out on her, she cautiously reached for the light, flicking it on.

 

The entire house was empty. There wasn’t a single sound anywhere. Lydia started to panic slightly, trusting her pack to look after themselves but still worried as to what could have happened that none of them were in. A square of paper on the table near the door caught her eyes, as did the familiar scrawl;

 

_Supernatural emergency, will be back before midnight, ice cream in the freezer, Peter x_

 

“Where is everybody?” her mom asked, glancing around.

 

“They’re out, something has happened.” Lydia grimaced, not wanting to think what could have required every single one of them. “Want some ice cream?” Her mother nodded happily.

 

“Lola shares my love of vanilla, so there’s always some in the…” She was interrupted when she turned on the kitchen light. There was a loud bang, a scream and Lydia clapped her hands over her mouth, jumping behind the kitchen door, peeking around it.

 

Every single member of her pack, and Scott’s, was gathered in the kitchen. Several bangs went off; confetti sprayed everywhere, streamers hanging off the light, her friends, the fridge. The ceiling was covered in multicolored balloons, the table covered in food. She slowly made her way out from behind the doorway, her hands still covering her mouth, her heart slamming against her chest. Despite the fact she thought she might have a heart attack yet, she was grinning.

 

“Who did the bangs?” she laughed breathlessly.

 

Stiles scoffed. “Like we’d tell you, we don’t have a death wish, Lydia.” She glared at him, but couldn’t help the smile as he bound towards her, lifting her up and muttering ‘happy birthday’ in her ear. One by one, people made their way over to her, beaming and smiling and wishing her a happy birthday. Lola all but assaulted her, and at some point she found Emilia in her arms. Allison reassured her there was actually plenty of ice cream in the freezer.

 

“You guys know you’re a day early, right?” she smirked, lifting Emilia back into Ava’s arms, Allison handing her a drink, Kira holding the bottle.

 

Her best friend gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, right. I bet you knew what was going on before you got through the door, didn’t you?”

 

Lydia gave a small smile, shrugging. “I had my suspicions. The note was a good idea. That threw me.”

 

“That was Stiles’ idea,” she grinned. “brilliant, I reckon. But, if we did it on your birthday, you would have guessed a mile away.” Lydia laughed, pulling her friend into a tight hug, thanking her for everything.

 

Everyone was there. Everyone from Allison and Isaac to Danny and Ethan had turned up. The house was filled with people, but she couldn’t find Peter, no matter how hard she tried.

 

Finding Derek hiding in the corner of the kitchen, she grabbed his arm, dragging him down to her level. He looked momentarily stunned at being manhandled, but quickly grinned, muttering ‘happy birthday’ in her ear. There was music playing loudly – some obscure mixture of dance and 1980’s classic rock that she was sure Stiles was responsible for – which when combined with the sheer number of people made it difficult to hear.

 

“Where’s Peter?”

 

He laughed. “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice his absence. He’s upstairs.” Lydia thanked him, squirming through the crowd that had gathered around Allison and Kira as they challenged each other to a drinking game.

 

She went to their bedroom first, and sure enough, found him on the bed, lounging back with the hands behind his head, eyes closed. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly when the door clicked closed, but he didn’t open his eyes.

 

“Thought you bailed on my party.” she said quietly.

 

“You think so low of me, _mon petit enfer_?” There was no malice or irritation in his voice, only amusement. She chuckled softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside him. “I would never. Your huntress friend is quite funny when drunk anyway.”

 

“She’s a lightweight.”

 

Without warning, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her down to lie beside him. She gave a yelp of surprise, but laughed when he trapped her beneath him, kissing her cheek. Only a moment passed before she leant upwards to kiss him properly, feeling his smile under her lips and his fingers in her hair.

 

“Am I to understand this was your doing?” she muttered against his mouth.

 

He kissed her again. “Naturally. You honestly think Stiles could have planned this entirely by himself?”

 

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. He lowered himself down to lie flat against her carefully, and she delighted in the sensation of her body pressed flush against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers, the fluttering of his heart beat noticeable as it beat against her skin. She pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his face nestled in the crook of her neck.

“How come you’re hiding up here then?” she whispered.

A smile broke out on his face and kissed the skin on her shoulder. “Wanted to give you your present.”

“And you required the privacy of our room to do so?”

Gently, he raised himself off of her, walking over to the chest of drawers. She watched with some apprehension, because Peter’s surprises were, while sweet, often slightly terrifying. Like the time he had visited her at her college and there had been a mountain lion in the back of the car.

“Close your eyes,” he said, closing the draw, his body in the way of her seeing whatever was in his hands.

She did as she was told, but her heart was beating like a bass drum. The sound of his low chuckle so near to her ear made her jump but she scowled anyway. Running with the wolves must have sharpened her instincts, because every muscle in her body was itching when she felt the dip in the bed that told her he had moved behind her. She was vulnerable. She kept her eyes closed but she was squirming in her seat with the need to not have her back exposed to him.

The sensation of a gentle hand gathering her hair up and draping it over her shoulder sent goosebumps across her entire back, her skin hypersensitive with the loss of her sight. He ran a gentle finger down her spine, making her bite her lip to keep from gasping.

Something cold hit her chest and she yelped, making him laugh. His hands were moving just behind her head, and then they smoothed down her arms and he kissed the back of her neck.

“Open your eyes,” he muttered against her skin. “go on.”

She did, instantly looking down to find a shiny silver key, nestled just above her breasts on a silver chain. Her fingers came up to smooth over it, the corners of her mouth twisting up into a wide smile. When his arms came around her waist, his legs appearing either side of her, she leant back into his chest, closing her fist around the key.

“Move in with me,” he said into her hair. “You practically live here when you come home. Your clothes are in the dresser, and even in the months when you leave, your favourite ice cream is in the freezer. Your scent is all over this house, I just want to make it our house. I understand that all evidence is to the contrary, but I do like to do things properly once in a while.”

“Home.” she said simply after his speech. When he made an inquisitive noise, she elaborated. “Home. _Our_ home. It’s not just a house any more.”

She didn’t need to be looking at him to see the familiar smile he had on his face; she could feel his joy deep in her chest and it mingled with her own. “‘Our’?”

She angled her face upwards to look at him. “What? You didn’t honestly think I’d say no, did you?” She’d barely finished her sentence when she found herself in the air, her legs wrapped around Peter’s waist - werewolf strength was good for a lot of things and apparently throwing her in the air to turn her around qualified. Lydia landed in his lap, beaming, as he looked up at her like she had agreed to let him open a strip bar in the basement.

“You’re incredible.” he said simply, the calm in his voice impressive considering the sheer multitude of emotions that were practically emanating off of him. She found herself at a loss for words, able only to look down at him, her skin buzzing with happiness.

A loud knock on the door broke their stare-off, making Lydia jolt. Peter stopped for a moment before groaning, Ava’s accent floating through the thick oak door.

“You two better be dressed, because I’m coming in…”

Sure enough, without waiting for confirmation or approval or in fact anything in a way that was very Ava, she pushed open the door and took in the scene in front of her with apprehension. “Well? What did she say?”

“Yes,” Peter said slowly. “why..?”

Whatever his question was going to be, it was cut off by the sound of hs beta squealing with joy, and bounding out the room. They were allowed only a few heartbeats of peace before a veritable stampede of werewolves burst into the room, grinning and cheering and howling. They made their way onto the bed, and Lydia could only burst out laughing at Peter’s obvious indignance; while his pack enjoyed group hugs and sleeping together on the smallest possible surface, he had obviously not gotten accustomed to not being alone at night. Despite it, he allowed Lola to drag Lydia off his lab and into hers so that his mate was laid out across both of them, giggling, her fingers still clutching at the key around her neck.

 

_**~.~.~.~** _

 

_22nd November_

To a werewolf, Las Vegas was either a blessing or a curse. The lights from the buildings and the cars seemed brighter, and the never-ending list of smells, ranging from hot dogs and tequila to women’s perfume and sweat, made their heads spin.

The two rooms in the motel just off the LV Strip they had between the five of them - Derek, Peter, the twins and Jared - were sparsely decorated but already uncomfortably hot, even in the dwindling sun of early evening. That, combined with the shots of vodka they had already had, was making for some very tipsy werewolves.

Peter raised a shot glass filled with what he was almost certain was tequila - although he wasn’t 100% sure - in a toast. “To my dear nephew, in the hope that his marriage to the crazy and hyperactive love of his life gives him a slightly cheerier disposition!” It was a messy and possibly insulting toast, but it was heartfelt, and the look on Derek’s face was more amused than it was offended, so Peter classed it as a win, and threw back the shot.

“And here is to the hope that Peter and Aiden will make it through the night without killing each other!” Derek smirked. There was a snort of agreement from Ethan, and even Jared lifted his glass in amusement. Peter gave him a sarcastic salute, before breaking into a grin again, and slinging his arm around his nephew’s neck.

The decision to go to Las Vegas for Derek’s stag night was one met with mixed emotion; amused concern from Lydia, outright hilarity from Scott and Stiles and not-so-thinly-veiled death threats from Ava. While Stiles was taking Scott, Isaac and Sam on ‘the greatest adventure ever’ - Peter took this to mean playing World of Warcraft, ordering pizza and watching porn - Derek had elected for something more traditional… getting shitfaced with his mates. It was good for him, as so many years spent with the worry of the whole world on his shoulders had left him unable to have actual fun, and so Peter made a secret vow to make the night unforgettable… or provide enough alcohol that it was extremely forgettable.

Aiden had gotten over his anger at Peter after a few days and a ‘stern’ lecture from Scott about boundaries and other such things. At Lydia’s behest, it was another week or so before they dropped the ‘soulmate’ bomb, which might have pissed Aiden off even more if he wasn’t a former member of the Alpha pack and had an understanding of such rare connections. Despite this, and how much his nephew swore Lydia had been a good influence on him, Peter was childish and petty and not above making lewd comments to his mate’s former lover.

“My little Derek, getting married,” he sighed dramatically. “never thought I’d see the day.”

“Speaking of ‘never thought I’d see the day’, I just recieved a text message from your soul mate,” Derek grinned, swiping his phone out of Peter’s reach before he could grab it. He scanned his phone, sighing and shaking his head. “although, you have no reason to worry. She’s not leaving you in the middle of the night.”

He handed Peter his phone, who grinned; **Stiles won’t speak to you directly, some crap about bad luck, but he has asked me to tell you that Scott will be performing a sniff test on you and if you smell like stripper, you will be sleeping on the couch until the wedding, L xo**

There was another text after it; **If Peter smells like stripper, he won’t make it through the front door xo**

“You get this weird, proud look on your face whenever she threatens someone, do you know that?” Jared laughed. Peter beamed, nodding.

An hour later, the group was making their way towards Las Vegas Boulevard when they stumbled on a little rustic bar. The flickering neon sign above the front door - whether that was an ironic statement or maintenance issues, he wasn’t sure - read ‘The Banshee’.

Peter grinned, his head already fuzzy from tequila and whatever the hell Ethan had in that flask, and whipped out his phone. Derek, apparently slightly less drunk and able to gather his intentions, burst out laughing, shaking his head, saying something about “she won’t laugh”. He paid him no mind, setting the phone to the front camera and taking a photo of himself in front of the bar, grinning. Aiden and Ethan both raised an eyebrow, the latter slightly more amused than his brother, as Peter thought long and hard about an appropriate - or rather, inappropriate - pun to go with the picture.

He settled on sending the picture sans a comment, because what else did it really need? He pressed send, imagining the photo fluttering off into the air, all the way back to California.

“Is he stoned?” came Jared’s sceptical tone, laced with amusement. Peter ignored him, too.

Another hour later, the boys were happily drunk in The Banshee; Aiden had acquired a traffic cone from God only knows where and was wearing it on his arm. Ethan was entertaining some either very friendly or very oblivious women in the corner with what his companions recognised as a fairly accurate tale of his brush with a Japanese demon but what the girls were taking as either brilliant story-telling or drugs. Derek had started referring to himself in the third person but had also forgotten his name three times.

Peter’s nephew was entertaining when drunk to say the least. His insufferable need to be the sensible one at all times had left him with a stick up his ass and knots in his shoulders, but he also rarely drank, and never to this extent. He was rambling about Stiles - in a borderline nauseatingly positive manner - to the barman, who looked torn between giving him more tequila and calling the police.

“Derek!” Peter grinned, sliding onto the stool next to him and downing his shot in one, much to Derek’s dismay. “Stop boring the barkeep with tales of your lady love and drink this.”

“What is it?”

Peter stared at the shot glasses, filled with some kind of pink liquid that came from a bottle he just pointed at and asked for some of. He hadn’t bothered checking what it was first. “Not a clue, wait a second,” He downed his shot, feeling the burn down his throat. “I think it’s some kind of flavoured vodka, but you’ll have to check.”

Derek drank it, wincing, “That’s disgusting. It’s like drinking shampoo.”

But Peter was already distracted; there was a large portrait hanging behind the bar, set in the middle of the optics. It portrayed a screaming woman in tattered grey clothes, dead, unseeing eyes, mouth hanging open like a corpse. It took him a few moments to put two and two together, but he finally managed.

“Is that a banshee?” he asked the bartender.

He looked round, nodding, “Yeah, ugly, ain’t she?”

“Lydia’s prettier,” he muttered, taking his phone out again, and taking another photo. He sent it to his mate, giggling, as Derek and the bartender watched on with dubious looks on their faces. Noticing, he simply shrugged, “What? She’d laugh.”

“Or delete your number,” Derek muttered, taking another sip of the whisky in front of him, possibly to wash out the taste of the bubblegum flavoured monstrosity Peter had just conned him into drinking. Peter ignored him again, turning his attention back to the portrait.

Some dark corner of his drunken mind could almost see it; the way the hair danced and flared behind her like silver wings, the eyes that resembled frozen pools more than any kind of body part, the undeniable raw power in a creature cursed with the sound of death in her ears. Lydia, on the other hand, had hair like warm Autumn leaves rather than ice, and her eyes reminded him more of the hand she had firmly grasped around the handle of life, rather than the latter. The pure, rage-driven power though… that was the same.

“Peter!”

Jared’s voice snapped him back to reality, making him turn sharply around, nearly falling over after losing his balance, “What?!”

“We need to go,” Jared smirked, “Some girl just tried to put her hand in Ethan’s boxers and he sort of howled.”

What none of them knew was, that about six hundred miles away, Lydia was sat on her bed grinning, trying desperately to get some work done without bursting into laughter at the complete mess her mate was when drunk. She was so in love, even she found it sickening.

 

_**~.~.~.~** _

 

_8th March_ **  
**

 

She picked her way through the forest barefoot, her arm trailing behind her as she held onto Peter’s hand who walked at a slightly more sedated pace. She loved the smell of the forest surrounding the Hale House, especially after a big storm like the one the previous night. Mostly, she enjoyed running with the wolves.

Peter had told her that few werewolves could perform a full shift, turning into an actual wolf. But, Talia had been able to, and had taught him how before the fire. Peter, in turn, taught his pack. Ava had taken to it like a duck to water, Jared not far behind her, but Lola and Sam were having a little difficulty in adjusting to four legs, rather than two. There was some howling and whining a while away, and two grey shapes shot in front of her, snarling. She recognised Faye and Lola - they were incredibly similar when they shifted, but Lola was slightly smaller - with their light grey coats, streaked with black and white. The larger of the two snapped at the other’s throat, but when Lola went to retaliate, she lost her footing and fell on her face.

“Faye,” Peter said, trying to sound serious and in charge but laughing at the same time. “try and resist the urge to attack your sister until she can at least walk without falling over.”

Lola growled at Peter, sulking away to hide behind Lydia’s legs after shaking her fur free of leaves. Lydia shot him a disapproving look, kneeling down to pick the remaining foliage out of Lola’s coat. The wolf nudged her face with her nose, giving a half bark of happiness before trotting off after her sister.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” he scowled, rolling his eyes. “make me the bad one.”

She looked up at him, trying to hide her amusement at his facial expression but failing miserably. She was smiling because she was kneeling, barefoot, in the dirt of a forest and wasn’t even concerned about getting messy. She was smiling because she had found herself a mother and a sister and a friend all at the same time and she was utterly at peace with it. She was smiling because months ago, she would have turned her nose up at everything she was doing and that meant that she had grown. Lydia Martin had inadvertently changed her ideology, and she was smiling.

Her mate grabbed her under her arms, hauling her to her feet, an annoyingly irresistible expression on his face. Their pack was snapping and barking and howling in the background, the sounds infusing with the rustling of leaves and the bird song that lingered in the air. It was the perfect backdrop for their kiss, her arms threading around his neck, his hands slowly travelling down her back, twisting around to gently caress over her ribs, gliding down to settle over her stomach, fingers splayed as if he needed to touch her as much as possible.

They kissed for a few moments before his mouth stilled. Lydia pulled away inquisitively, the silent question on her face falling the second she saw the myriad of emotions plaguing him, shining like neon lights in his pale blue eyes. “Peter..?”

Peter dropped to his knees in front of her, his face unreadable. She would have usually relied on their ability to tune in on each other’s emotions but all she was getting was static; in her experience, that meant he was feeling too much, or he was purposefully trying to conceal something from her, neither of which filled her with hope. Her pleas for an explanation fell on deaf ears as his hands came up to ghost down her body, his fingers mere millimeters from the fabric of her dress.

“Peter, what the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, didn’t give a single indication that he even heard her. He stared straight ahead as if he was listening to her body, which might have made her feel self conscious before the insane, insufferable and slightly wonderful man in front of her took everything she knew was normal and tore it into pieces, but all she felt was worry.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered. “seriously, what is-” He cut off her by silently pressing his ear to her stomach. His fingers gripped her hips so tight it almost hurt, as if holding her in place.

It took less than a minute for her to realise what he was doing; listening. Listening to her body. To something in her body.

“Peter…” she choked out, gently twisting his head so he was looking at her. When their eyes met, it was as if the veil that had fallen over his vision lifted, and his mouth turned up into a smile that could have, as he would have said, charmed the pants off a nun.

She didn’t need to ask, or say anything, because he knew that she knew. But, when he gave the tiniest of nods, she had to clap one hand over her mouth to stop the scream and anchor herself on his shoulder so she didn’t fall.

“I’m…” The word wouldn’t quite form on her lips, like admitting it out loud would make it just a bit too real. “We’re going to… you know, be…”

“Parents,” His voice was but a breath. And then he was on his feet quicker than she had ever seen, and her feet were no longer touching the floor. She made a noise that was one part scream and one part yelp because she was spinning around, clutching onto her soulmate like he was the last thing anchoring her to the planet. The sheer intensity of the combination of both their emotions flooding through her veins was bringing tears to her eyes.

When there was finally solid ground beneath her feet - not that she was able to let go of him for fear of falling over - her face ached from smiling and his was flushed with joy.

“Marry me.” he blurted out.

She burst out laughing. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?” He gave a similar laugh. “I didn’t leave much room for interpretation.”

She felt her smile falter, although it was more from shock than anything else. “You’re serious?” He quirked an eyebrow, something that seemed comically out of place for the conversation they were having. Lydia opened and closed her mouth, letting the idea take a hold in her mind. They were soulmates. Literally bound together by the universe and fate. They were going to have a baby. She loved him and he loved her and so what if he wanted to make it official because Lydia would happily walk through fire and ice to stay with him.

“Yes.”

It was his time to blanch. “What?”

“Didn’t leave much room for in-” Her sarcastic comment was cut off by his mouth, Peter swallowing the rest of her words in a kiss.

“You and me,” he finally said, pulling away as little as he could. “getting married, having a baby. I can’t wait.”

“Then we wont.”

“What?”

“Well, obviously, we have to wait for one of those things because I’m pretty sure banshees have a similar gestation period to humans but why should we wait to get married?”

Peter had a similar look on his face to the one Derek had worn when Stiles and Scott turned up at the loft with a box of kittens. She could see his brain working overtime to try and make sense of her  (literal) proposal, trying to work out what she meant and if it was good and if he wanted it and what was going on because the last five minutes had been information overload and even Peter Hale had to take a breather sometimes.

“You mean… just, do it?”

She nodded. “Why not? Tomorrow. Here. In the woods.”

Which was exactly how Lydia ended up in Derek and Stiles’ loft less than an hour later. She’s made her way back to her mother first, telling her both about her pregnancy and her impending wedding. She’d told Mrs Martin about the world of the supernatural - with Scott’s help, rather than Peter’s, the latter less talented in the delicate art of tact - some months ago, which meant that the sudden urge to get married in the woods was slightly easier to explain. Lydia had gone to Allison next, who had beamed and hugged her so tight she thought she might have broken a rib, gushing about how she would need to go shopping because “impulsive pagan wedding or not, she was still Lydia Martin and Lydia Martin never did anything big without a new dress”.

Despite Allison’s enthusiasm, it really didn’t come close to Stiles’ reaction. He’d yelled louder than she thought possible for a human, spinning her round the living room like a rag doll, calling for Derek who appeared like magic in the kitchen, holding up his phone.

“Peter called,” he said simply, following Stiles’ angry questioning as to why he wasn’t jumping around with them. “He’s called dibs on me, says you have to pick a different maid of honour.” Lydia laughed, allowing Derek to pull her into a hug, a rare display of affection, even in recent months, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You know this makes me your aunt, right?” she asked when he let go.

The broad smile stayed on his face, even as he picked up both her hands, holding them between them. “I will kill you, without mercy, if you ever remind me of that again,” Despite the revert back to ‘claw first, ask questions later’ Derek, he still beamed, and even pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Or I would, but I want to meet my cousin first.”

The morning of the wedding was chaos, wrapped in anarchy, drizzled in discord. The plan was to have the ceremony in the woods, not far from where Peter had proposed the day before. Everyone would then make their way back to the Hale House where Ava was currently making enough food to feed the entire town, Emilia dutifully sat on her foot, clutching her mother’s leg. It was a simple enough plan, were it not for the dozen or so werewolves it required organising.

On her insistence that they should abide by at least one tradition, Peter had stayed away, sleeping at his nephew’s house. She didn’t have so much as a clue as to what he was doing, save from the vaguely ominous hints Stiles was dropping from the corner of the room as Lola and Allison busily rushed around her, doing her hair and make up.

The new dress she and Allison had found the day before was a simple, plain white toga style dress. It fell to her knees, secured at her shoulder and clinched at the waist. If anyone had asked her five years ago what she thought her wedding dress would look like, it would have been the very last thing she thought of, and going barefoot to her wedding? Not a chance. But, there she stood, in front of the mirror in her room, Allison finishing off her make up as Lola took more pictures.

“Derek says they’re ready when you are,” Stiles piped up just as she blotted her lips, painted matt red. Lola swept Lydia’s hair over both shoulders, having been artfully curled into loose ringlets, one section pinned behind her ear on one side. She felt more beautiful than she had ever felt, and her stomach was twisting itself into knots upon knots, but she was shaking in anticipation.

Her own father had remained steadfastly absent for several years after her parents divorce. Whether her mother had told him of the wedding, she wasn’t sure, but he certainly wasn’t walking her down the aisle, and she had enlisted the help of Stiles, who had jumped at the chance. She took one last look at her immediate wedding party; Stiles, jumping on the balls of his feet, seemingly as nervous as she was. Allison, all dressed up in a pretty blue summer dress, hair falling down her back. Lola, who had even been wrestled into a dress by her sister, dark purple and paisley, falling to the floor. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, her mother was waiting, a small box in her hands.

“I know you’ll say this is a cliché, but since you’re marrying a werewolf twice your age in the woods…” Her mother’s eyes glanced downwards. “and barefoot, at that, how about you let me have one tradition?”

Lydia gave a half smile, taking the box, feeling Lola and Stiles hovering over her shoulders. Tentatively, she opened the box, and found a large silver pendant on a thick silver chain, nestled on a bed of red velvet. Gently, she ran her fingers over the necklace, the metal cool underneath her fingers, and she ran her fingers over the rim of a glass, the necklace sang to her. Gentle, whispering voice, singing and chanting to her. Like a thousand souls were trapped in the pendant, and they were all talking to her.

“That necklace has been in our family since before we came to America,” her mother explained. “and it has been passed down the women for generations.”

Lydia bit her lip, still listening to the voices because they weren’t yelling or screaming or dying, they were peaceful and they lessened the tight sensation in her abdomen slightly. She glanced up. “Such a cliché, mom,” she beamed, making her mother laugh. “I love it.”

Lydia slipped the necklace over her head, pulling her hair out from the chain, feeling the cool metal press against her skin through her dress. She realised, rather belatedly, that she was going to walk down the aisle with the voices of her ancestors in her ears, singing, and she nearly burst out in tears because she was a cliché and she was just so happy.

“Something old,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “and the dress, something new, right? All you need is something borrowed…”

“She’s wearing my earrings, technically,” Allison piped up. “I mean, she borrowed them like a year ago but whatever.”

“You can have them back tomorrow.”

Stiles grinned. “Great, so all you need is something blue?”

Everyone stopped and looked around, thinking. Without warning, Lola jumped down the last few stairs - impressive given the full length dress - and disappeared off round the corner. When she came back, she had the head of a blue iris in her hand, one Lydia recognised from the front of the house. Lola gently unclipped the section of hair that she had pinned back, pinning the iris to the side of her head.

“Beautiful,” her mother said simply.

Stepping out into the front garden, looking out into the woods filled her with nerves. In the safety of the house, her pre-wedding jitters had been mere flickers, but now her chest was shaking and she had to fight herself not to ruin the masterpiece Lola had done on her make up by biting her lip or crying or any other manner of thing. Stiles was like an anchor, holding her by the arm, her mother keeping a hand on the small of her back, Allison and Lola’s presence noticeable behind her.

Her mother waved her good bye, and set off to get her seat. Allison followed not long after, and Stiles sent Derek a quick text to let them know the bride was on her way.

The maid of honour would go down the aisle, scattering sunflower petals - she and Lydia had spent several hours planning the fine details of the wedding, despite the shortage of time, and discovered that sunflowers meant ‘pure thoughts’; she wasn’t sure if it was beautiful or ironic - and Stiles would give her away when Allison got to her place. Lola would follow Lydia down the aisle, possibly scowling for being forced into something other than jeans.

Lola took Lydia’s other arm for the duration of the walk, and that was how she approached her wedding, with one of her best friends and a girl who was closer to a sister than anyone else had ever been on either arm. The trees seemed to arch perfectly, making a doorway of sorts. The sensation of the earth beneath her feet - cool and damp - filled her with anticipation, as if she could feel the trees humming in their roots. Despite the slight chill in the air, the March breeze near frigid, she felt happily warm, and her lungs took in the cold air like she hadn’t breathed properly in years.

“I’m getting married,” she breathed out. Stiles chuckled.

“Well spotted,”

Lola squeezed her hand. “He loves you, more than he loves anything. More than he could ever love anything. You know that, right?”

She could only smile, lost in her thoughts and the feel of the dirt and the voices coming from her necklace. “It’s how I feel about him,”

When they reached the wedding, she gasped.

Everyone was sat in front of a large tree, its branches spanning seemingly for miles, and there were tiny paper lanterns hung from nearly every branch. The lower branches were even adorned with fairy lights, just visible in the midday sun, but still utterly magical. Jared was propped up, sat on the back of a chair to the side, his guitar ready in his hands, and all eyes were on her. Lola made to get ready to walk behind her, but Lydia caught her hand at the last moment.

“Stay with me?”

Slipping her hand it’s Lydia, Lola entwined their fingers, giving her a reassuring smile. Stiles kept a hand on her arm, guiding her towards her wedding. When she started moving, Jared starting plucking at the guitar. It was just a series of nonsensical notes, but they blended with the whistling of the breeze and the singing of her ancestors and she wasn’t afraid to admit one single tear fell from her eye.

Because, she could see Peter. His shirt was crisp white, the top few buttons undone, tucked loosely into his trousers, but his hands were steepled in front of his face and he was staring at her like she lit the sun in the morning. Everything else faded to black, and all she could see was his face, staring down at her, eyes damp, mouth open.

When she reached him, Stiles cupped her face softly, kissing her forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” he muttered, the gentle statement at such a stark contrast with Stiles’ usual personality it nearly knocked her over. When he took his place - next to Derek, as traditional wedding conventions meant nothing to them apparently - Lola stepped forward, sweeping her into a tight hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she breathed, smiling almost as widely as Lydia herself. “for all of you.” The last words were said in hushed tones, not that it would have mattered in a wedding full of werewolves - not to mention, gossip spread like wildfire in Beacon Hills - but Lydia appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

And finally she was allowed to step up. She resisted the urge to tackle him in a hug, tell everybody else to clear off and declare them married already herself, and settled for taking his hands in hers, and holding them tightly. Peter stared down at her with a look of such devotion that she thought her heart may give out with the emotion.

Someone cleared their throat, and Lydia turned round to find Ethan awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. She thought about asking what the hell was happening, but instead smiled and shook her head -

_It later turned out that both Derek and Ethan had gotten ordained at the former’s stag night, and may have married several couples while walking around the strip._

\- at the sight of Derek with his fingers crossed at his sides, staring pointedly anywhere that wasn’t at her. Peter gave a half smile when he realised their wedding was going to be officiated by the slightly awkward looking other wolf, the promise of an entertaining story playing behind his eyes.

“Dearly beloved,” Ethan started after clearing his throat. “I’m not sure if everyone knows why we’re gathered here today, since the bride and groom didn’t give us much time to prepare”

There was a hum of laughter from the audience, Derek muttering something unintelligible to Lydia’s ears but made Peter bite his lip in an attempt to not laugh. Lydia felt a blush spread across her face, but Ethan carried on happily either way.

“Regardless, a blind man could see how happy these two make each other, and so we are here to see them married,” he beamed. “I’m sure many of you will have called this months ago, and funnily enough, fate did too. It does beg the question as to why two people, joined at the soul, want to stand up and marry, but look how lovely they look. I can’t blame them.”

As their friends and family laughed again, it became clear Ethan was really winging it, but she was too busy grinning to care. Just over the hum of amusement, she heard the Sheriff ask Melissa, “ _souls mates are real, too? Oh, Jesus…_ ”

“I’m not even sure what else can be said, that these two haven’t said already, or that everyone here hasn’t seen already,” Ethan laughed softly to himself, “so Peter, do you take this woman as your wife?”

“I do.” The simple words that Lydia had been dreaming of hearing since she was old enough to want a wedding made her stomach do flips and jumps inside her, and she was certain a lesser man would have winced in pain at how tightly she held onto his hands.

“Do you promise to care for her always? To keep her safe? To keep her happy?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise to love her, now and forever?”

“I do.”

“And Lydia…”

“I do!” she blurted out before Ethan could finish his sentence. Peter ducked his head to hide his laughter, while Allison didn’t manage to catch herself in time and snorted loudly.

Ethan simply looked at her like she was insane before addressing the audience, “She does!” There was another murmur of laughter from their friends and family but Lydia couldn’t even bring herself to be embarrassed.

“Well, on that note, I feel perfectly happy to declare that in the eyes of all, you, Peter Hale, and you Lydia Martin, are husband and wife,” There was a sharp intake from several people, one of whom Lydia suspected was her mother, “and you may kiss the bride.”

The usually quiet forests erupted into noise; the happy yells that came from Stiles, Scott and Lola, hearty applause from Derek and Isaac, someone even whistled. The leaves in the trees danced and fluttered under the weight of the birds that burst from them, wings flapping softly in the warm Spring air, and even the wind seemed to blow a little louder. The dirt was soft and damp under her feet, the vibrations of sheer emotion running through her like a bass drum, and she faintly aware of the flower petals that were showering around her, but everything seemed to fade into the background, just white noise, only the hand in her hair and the mouth on hers in clear clarity, speaking a message that not even the ceremonious cheers of her ancestors that reverberated from her necklace could drown out.

**  
Forever.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough. If you have stuck with me through the painful months of me actually getting this chapter out, you are an angel and I adore you. This fic has been a labour of love, filled with my blood, sweat and tears and quite frankly, it has more of me in it than me at this point. 
> 
> So, massive thank you to everyone who didn't a) tell me to get my shit together and actually finish the damn thing and b) who gave their support. I literally adore every single one of you.


End file.
